The Metahuman Transfiguration
by Stephen Tannhauser
Summary: The gang gets superpowers. It's not as cool as some of them always thought it would be.
1. Chapter 1

THE METAHUMAN TRANSFIGURATION

By Stephen Tannhauser

 **Description:** The gang gets superpowers. It's not as cool as some of them always thought. Alternate Season 9 premiere.

 **Disclaimer:** The author does not own THE BIG BANG THEORY or any of the characters. The last name given Penny for this story, and the first name given President Siebert, is neither official nor likely to show up in any other BBT story. Please also note that in this chapter, the physics and safety protocols of particle accelerator use have been radically tweaked for dramatic purposes.

\- 1 -

HOFSTADTER-COOPER RESIDENCE—2311 LOS ROBLES AVENUE, #4A, PASADENA, CALIFORNIA

MONDAY, JULY 6, 2015, 7:04 A.M.

Compared to the Arctic expedition six years ago, this hadn't been the worst summer of Leonard Hofstadter's life so far. But he had to admit there weren't many other candidates. And it had seemed to be starting out so well, too. He could still remember that moment in May, the last moment he'd really, completely felt happy: when Penny had grinned at him and said, simply, " _Vegas isn't that far away_."

And then, like an idiot, he'd listened to his conscience instead of his heart, and told Penny the truth about his fling on the North Sea research ship last year, which he'd tried so hard to put behind him. It hadn't even been much of a fling, as flings went; it was one evening, he'd been sick, the girl was a smoker who'd been drunk, and it had been maybe two, three minutes of kissing, tops, before he'd put a stop to it. (With tongue, sure, but he didn't feel any need to go into _that_ much detail.) He'd told himself that once it was out they could move on, and he could be happy his conscience was clear. But then everything had gone, not to put too fine a point on it, to ratshit.

Despite Penny's glib assertion that she wasn't bothered, the rest of the drive to Vegas had been a strained, near-total silence, except for conferring over the directions to the Wedding Denny's she'd looked up on her phone. They'd been sitting in the lobby, waiting to be seated at their table, still in silence, and somehow Leonard had known exactly what Penny was going to say when she drew in a deep breath and said, "I can't do this." He'd been feeling the same way, with an extra layer of all the old self-loathing: this was supposed to have been the happiest moment of both their lives, and he'd ruined it. This was not how he wanted to remember their wedding.

But when he'd said, "You're right, we probably shouldn't," she'd looked at him in disbelief and said, "Wait, aren't you even going to argue?!" And from there it had turned into one of the worst, most senseless fights they'd ever had, only ending when Penny had stormed out and flung herself into a cab. She'd caught a train back to Pasadena, leaving Leonard to make the long drive back alone in a haze of misery.

They'd reconciled cautiously a few days later, Penny assuring him that they were still engaged and both agreeing that maybe eloping wasn't the best way to go after all. But the awkwardness that persisted reminded Leonard of nothing so much as those horrible few days just before their first breakup, five years ago, when he'd first told Penny he loved her and gotten nothing but a horribly discomfited, "Thank you!" in response. Date nights found themselves getting cancelled in favour of late work nights. Neither had ever brought up planning the wedding again. Even the nights they spent together had taken on a far more dully domestic vibe than anything erotic. Sometimes—some few moments that were getting farther and farther apart—they'd luck into some conversational topic that engaged them both for a while, and then it was like nothing had ever happened. But always, always, that awkwardness, that distance, came back. The summer had dragged itself out like a boulder chained to his ankle, and Leonard couldn't decide which was worse: bracing himself for a dumping he was more and more certain was on the way, or resigning himself to _this_ for the rest of his life because he couldn't have kept his mouth shut just for a few months more.

It was only slight consolation that none of his friends seemed to be doing much better. Howard and Bernadette hadn't yet been able to get Stuart Bloom out of their house; Raj was still dating Emily, and was doing a marvelous job of demonstrating exactly how someone getting regular amounts of what Leonard had to admit sounded like pretty freaky sex could be genuinely unhappy; and Sheldon . . . well, it was one of the many ironies about living with Sheldon Cooper that he was actually, in a lot of ways, much easier to deal with in this particular state of misery. He complained about the thermostat much less, for starters, almost never thought of amusing games to play while driving any more, and hadn't mentioned the Roommate Agreement in weeks. And while Leonard's affection for Amy Farrah Fowler had increased a lot since he'd first met her, Leonard couldn't say he missed her habit of tactlessly observing the most annoying things possible, either. He gathered from Penny that Amy wasn't enjoying the separation much more than Sheldon, but Penny had put her foot down with uncharacteristic firmness about trying to get them back together. "Amy needs her own space and time," she'd said. "She'll come back when she wants to."

 _Maybe_ we _should take some space_ , Leonard had almost asked, but didn't. In the end, he was too afraid. If he let go now, he might lose Penny forever. And yet he seemed to be losing her anyway, all the same, day by day.

So in a way, perhaps it was a good thing he'd glanced idly at Sheldon's board that morning as he walked to the kitchen for coffee. In another way, of course, that moment's glance was responsible for everything that followed, good and bad. But that was chaos theory: The tiniest change in input conditions, in a system of sufficient complexity, can produce catastrophic outcomes.

All Leonard felt at the time was dull surprise that Sheldon was still standing rigidly at his board, wearing the same clothes he'd had on last evening; he must have been up all night. Leonard frowned and went over to him. "What's this?"

"A paradox, on several levels," said Sheldon. His chin rested on his fist, his brows were furrowed, and his eyes shadowed with fatigue; he looked even gaunter than usual, as if he'd lost weight. The equation on the board was rather more compact than Leonard had expected. "It's either proof of my complete incapacitation or the biggest scientific advance in history, and the problem is that in order to test it I run the risk of looking like a complete fool."

Leonard raised his eyebrows. "Not seeing a downside here."

Sheldon glowered at him, though even that seemed atypically strengthless. "You know, it's taken me a lot of work to come to terms with the fact that my dignity is not other people's highest priority. I'd think a little indulgence from my so-called best friend isn't out of the question."

"Oh, a _little_ indulgence isn't. Indulging _you_ , on the other hand . . . " Leonard squinted at the equation as Sheldon went over to the kitchen counter, turning on the kettle. It looked like it had started as a riff on the classic E=mc2, but there were quite a few more variables in there now: he recognized g, for gravity, Y for electromagnetism, W and Z for the weak nuclear force, gL for (he guessed) the gluons of the strong nuclear force . . . . He blinked several times as comprehension slowly dawned. "Sheldon—is this a GUT equation?"

"A Grand Unification Theory? Hardly. More like a GIT, a Grand Insanity Theory. Hence the use of 'I' for the hidden variable, the fifth force." The kettle whistled; Sheldon whisked it from the stove and poured hot water into his cup. "The only reason I haven't already consigned those scribblings to oblivion is that they do balance so neatly. It's rather like looking at the She-Hulk: That physique can't possibly exist in reality, but you find yourself appreciating its majesty nonetheless."

Leonard narrowed his eyes. "Sheldon—did you just say you think the She-Hulk is hot?"

"Oh, I don't _think_ it. By any objective measure of feminine pulchritude Jennifer Walters _is_ hot, unless you're put off by the green skin and the temper." Sipping his tea, Sheldon came back to stand beside Leonard, considering the board. "Of course, it's a moot point given her fictional nature. Much like all this. There is no 'I' in reality."

"Yes there is," Leonard pointed out.

Sheldon glared at him, then gave the breathless gasping snort he used to imitate laughter. "At any rate," he continued, "if the only way to integrate the four forces is to assume an imaginary fifth, this equation is about as much use as that organ Penny's ex Zack called his brain."

"Well, we had to assume anywhere from seven to twenty-three extra dimensions to make string theory balance. What's an extra interactive force among friends?" Leonard surprised himself with a grin. It had been some time since anything had really made him smile. "What gave you the idea?"

"Oh—a moment's whimsy, nothing more." Sheldon shrugged dismissively. "I was glancing through Dan Simmons' _Hyperion_ series the other day, and it reminded me of the movie _Interstellar_ and the silly notion that love was a real force in the universe. Well, I refuse to attribute cheap sentiment to a self-evidently indifferent cosmos, but it occurred to me last night: What if consciousness, awareness, intellect—pure reason—what if _that_ was the fifth force? What would it look like? So I simply assumed an 'I' variable that averaged to a static balancing factor, slotted it in, and . . . " He shrugged again. "As my mother might say: Bingo."

"Bingo," repeated Leonard. The equation really was a thing of beautiful simplicity, he had to admit. His own brain started whirring. "You know, if the relationship you've got there between gravity and the strong force is consistent, I could probably calculate a viable particle accelerator test for it. And Howard is friends with the guy who's getting the new compact accelerator at JPL up and running."

Sheldon rolled his eyes and waved his free hand. "By all means, Leonard, if you want to make a fool of yourself in front of the world, go ahead. Just keep my name out of it." He finished his tea, glanced at his watch and started. "Oh, Lord, I'm overdue for my seven o'clock bowel movement."

"Right," said Leonard, already scribbling down a copy of Sheldon's equation. "Don't wanna miss that."

Sheldon started for the bathroom, stopped, then turned. "Leonard, I have a question," he said, his voice unwontedly somber. "You've had to adjust to the involuntary cessation of relationships a lot more than I have. At what point do these lingering aftereffects finally dissipate?"

"Aftereffects?"

"Disruptions," said Sheldon, after a moment. "Distractions. Physical and mental. I've restructured my daily routines to account for Amy's absence, but I find myself inexplicably unable to maintain them—as if some subconscious part of my brain is refusing to admit the truth, and keeps expecting Amy to turn up, or call. I find my feet turning towards her neighbourhood before I remember where I'm really going. I spend all night working on what has to be arrant nonsense—" he gestured at the board "—simply because on some level it reminds me of her. Well, I've had enough of it. How do I make my brain stop doing this to me?"

Leonard sighed. "You don't, Sheldon. It happens on its own. With time."

Sheldon blinked. "That's ludicrous on the face of it," he said. "That would imply my brain is no more cooperative than any other person's."

"Of course," said Leonard, and glanced sideways to hide the involuntary roll of his eyes. "What was I thinking. You'd better hit the toilet if you want to get your routine done before we leave."

"Oh. Right. I can't believe I almost forgot my bowel movement—you see what she's done to me?" Sheldon hastened off down the hall, muttering to himself. "Fine thing; the world's greatest brain, reduced to gag equations and ruined schedules…."

Leonard shook his head and went back to scribbling. Some moments passed in silence.

"Oh, my God, I can't even move my bowels!" came a sudden cry from the bathroom. "My brain _isn't_ cooperating with me! Come on, you stupid brain, get that sphincter moving!"

Leonard found himself snorting laughter into his clipboard, and paused, appreciating just how good it felt.

Maybe things were about to turn around for them after all.

BOER LABORATORY BUILDING, JET PROPULSION LABORATORY, CALTECH

4800 OAK GROVE DRIVE, PASADENA, CALIFORNIA

TUESDAY, AUGUST 25, 2015, 10:29 A.M.

The buildings of CalTech's JPL campus covered enough territory, and encompassed enough winding tree-lined streets, that navigating them required their own GPS program. Penny followed the instructions Sheldon had uploaded to her car's system, wincing every time the electronic Sheldon-voice spoke up, but it was mostly reflex. The rest of her brain was turning over and over on a single sentence, the only thing she was certain of: _This can't go on._

She didn't want to break up with Leonard. Thinking about life without him put a horrible hollow feeling in the pit of her stomach. Not just for losing him, but for losing what he meant to her: proof that she wasn't just another screwup, another would-be cornhusker starlet who'd washed out and sold out. Proof that her life _meant_ something, that _she_ meant something. But she couldn't deal with this grinding discomfort any more. Over the last few weeks she'd barely seen him at all, between his days at CalTech and long late nights here with Howard and Sheldon at JPL; she supposed she was happy something had sparked his enthusiasm again, but it would have been nice if at least a little of that enthusiasm had come her way.

Maybe once this big experiment was over they'd have a chance to talk . . . no, Penny abruptly decided, there was no _maybe_ about it. One way or another this was getting settled. Strangely, the thought calmed her stomach.

The parking lot to which Sheldon's GPS voice had directed her (" _And if you should happen to notice your 'check engine' light is on, I_ strongly _recommend consulting a mechanic!_ ") came up on the right, occupying the area before a nondescript grey square building. She pulled in behind a vaguely familiar-looking vehicle, but didn't recognize it until she'd parked a few spaces down and gotten out to see the driver gaping at her. Her eyes widened; she found herself grinning with startled delight. "Amy!"

Without a word Amy Farrah Fowler strode forward and hugged her. To her own surprise, Penny returned it just as vigorously. "Oh my God," she said, "it's been weeks! Why didn't you call me?"

Amy didn't let go. Her hair, looking limper and muddier than usual in the bright morning sunlight, smelt only faintly of its normal medicinal shampoo. "Stupid reasons," she said into Penny's shoulder. "Limbic-brain reasons. You, Bernadette, the rest of you . . . you all just reminded me a little too much of—well—him. You know who." She drew back and looked up, and Penny realized she was wearing her oldest and least flattering cardigan-skirt outfit, something her grandmother must have handed down. Her glasses were smudged. "I never realized how hard it was to cut someone out of your life once they'd been there for long enough. Is this typical?"

Penny hesitated. "I don't know, sweetie," she said at last. "Most of my relationships didn't even last long enough to need cutting out of my address book."

"Yet you maintained a friendship with Leonard after breaking up with him. Even to the degree you were able to laugh at some of his other sexual encounters. Which is not to say that some of them probably weren't inherently laughable, but nonetheless . . . ."

Penny shrugged. "I didn't really have a choice, Ames. Neither of us were gonna move, after all. And I didn't want to lose him as a friend."

Amy bit her lip. "You know, I always thought of myself as the smartest person I knew." She turned to walk towards the lab building. Penny followed at her side. "Being friends with Sheldon was . . . well, it was an enlightening experience. Being his girlfriend was a frustrating one. But being _your_ friend—that, that was the really humbling experience." She looked sidelong up at Penny, her expression half rueful, half bemused. "I've spent my life studying neurobiology. And yet you know more about how the human brain relates to others than I ever will. How ironic is that?"

Penny managed the best smile she could around the unexpected twinge in her heart. "Amy, sweetheart, the fact that you _understand_ irony puts you a fair bit ahead of Sheldon already." They mounted the steps and went in through the big glass double doors; she sighed in relief at the cool air and shade inside, then took a deep breath. "And . . . And I could have made more effort to stay in touch with you. I mean, I wanted to give you your space, but still. So I don't know how good a friend I am, really."

Amy smiled. "Well, I'll forgive you your shortfalls if you forgive mine. Deal?"

"Deal." Penny smiled back and shook Amy's offered hand. Then she frowned down at it. "Oh my God. You haven't had a manicure in months, have you? Seriously, Amy, these nails belong in a horror movie."

Amy scowled at her. "You know, bestie, it's a good thing you're so good-looking. You have no idea how much tactlessness you get away with because you're hot."

Penny gave her a look. "Okay, one, you're calling _me_ tactless? And two—" She paused, then grinned. "Yeah, actually I do know. It's just one of those delightful fringe benefits. Along with rarely buying my own drinks, a good sales record and an extremely agreeable boyfriend."

"Boyfriend," said Amy. "Hm. Interesting that the word that came to your mind wasn't 'fiance'. Trouble in Paradise?"

All Penny's good humour vanished in an instant. She sighed. "It . . . hasn't been the world's best summer for me either. I don't want to talk about that now. I assume you're here to watch the big experiment too, right? Do you remember which part of the building we have to get to?"

Amy nodded. "I memorized Sheldon's instructions. This way." She turned left and led Penny down a long white-painted corridor, passing glass-panelled doors on left and right. Their footsteps echoed up and down the hallways as they turned right, then left, then left again. "I admit, I'm surprised they're making this big a deal out of it, given how disparagingly Sheldon described it."

"Yeah, Leonard told me a bit about it too. He was kinda cagey about it. Between you and me—" Penny looked around, then lowered her voice. "—I get the feeling he might have overhyped this a little, just to get things moving."

Amy dropped her voice to match. "What gives you that idea?"

"I don't know. It's just a vibe he gives off, whenever he talks about it. Sort of like how I feel on a new product pitch, when I have to use the script for skimming over the side effects. Which I don't do that often," Penny added hurriedly. "Or at all. Really."

Amy arched an eyebrow at her: a disquieting look, half Spock, half Sheldon. "Well, you're not wrong, bestie. Yes, it's the side of science that most scientists don't like to talk about: the marketing side. With all its . . . constructive exaggerations and omissions. You don't get research grants by calling your theories wild blue-sky long shots, even if that's exactly what they are."

Penny repressed an urge to gulp. "That's reassuring. Next time any of you guys plays the Trust Me, I'm A Scientist card I'll know to take it with a grain of salt."

"A wise choice." Amy nodded. Then blithely added: "I suppose it's a good thing that Leonard can't really lie worth a darn either. A useful protective measure for a marriage, I should think."

Penny's jaw tightened. "Yeah," she agreed tonelessly. "Protective. That's what it is."

She was aware of Amy's curious look, but as they turned one last corner and recognized the small group standing outside another set of double doors, Penny took the opportunity to rush ahead. "Bernadette, hi!" she called, and hugged the smaller woman as firmly as she'd hugged Amy. "How are you guys doing?"

"Oh, we're great! Fantastic! Couldn't be better!" was the enthusiastic response. Stuart Bloom flung one arm each around Howard's and Bernadette's shoulders, to all appearances completely oblivious to the sickly smiles on their faces. "Business at the comic book store is going great, we've been working on the house, it's wonderful. I can't tell you how much difference these guys have made to my life."

"Or how much difference you've made to ours," said Howard, his upbeat tone so clearly forced that Penny had to wonder just how clueless Stuart really was. Then again, maybe scientists weren't the only one who were capable of constructive omissions. "We wouldn't have dreamed of leaving you out of this, buddy."

"Yeah," said Bernadette, folding her hands, her voice even higher-pitched than normal. "Who cares if you're not a scientist, or were explicitly invited or not?"

"Exactly!" agreed Stuart heartily. "That's what I love so much about you guys. You're not snobs. You're so welcoming. Penny, great to see you, how's Leonard?" He released Howard and Bernadette and shook Penny's hand; behind him, Howard and Bernadette both slumped and rolled their eyes, like string-cut marionettes. Before Penny could answer Stuart turned to Amy. "And Amy, it's been too long, why don't you ever come by the comic book store?"

Amy blinked. "Because our acquaintance isn't sufficiently intimate as to overcome my complete lack of interest in buying movie and TV paraphernalia, or in reading wish-fulfillment fantasies about impossibly muscled men and impossibly buxom women." As Stuart processed that, looking nonplussed, Amy leaned over to Penny and lowered her voice. "Though I might re-evaluate my stance if one of them looked like you, bestie." She flashed a quick smile. Penny returned it awkwardly.

Footsteps sounded behind Penny. Howard perked up in pleased relief. "Oh, look, it's Raj! Hey, buddy, good to—" He broke off abruptly, looking poleaxed. Penny turned.

She understood Howard's surprise instantly. The girl beside Raj wasn't the tall lissome redhead she'd expected, but a shorter, snub-nosed brunette in a black jacket, with big dark eyes and a hesitant smile. Raj's own smile was distinctly uncomfortable, as if he was having second thoughts about being here at all, but he squared his shoulders and gestured to the girl. "Good morning, everybody . . . you all remember Lucy, right?"

"We do," said Amy, and looked Lucy up and down as if examining a new specimen in a petri dish. "We also remember that she broke your heart after deciding that getting to know all of us along with you was too uncomfortable for her many neuroses to endure. So I admit I'm not sure which is most surprising, Rajesh: that this woman is here, that the woman you're currently dating isn't, or that you have apparently forgiven one and betrayed the other. I'm sure the explanation will be fascinating."

Howard's eyebrows lifted. "Wow," he murmured sidelong to Bernadette. "You know, I never realized how much she'd mellowed out before."

"That's 'cause you weren't at ground zero for a lot of the mellowing," Bernadette muttered back.

Lucy gave Raj a panicked look. Raj held up his hands. "Look, everybody, this isn't anything like what you're thinking. This is not a betrayal, Lucy and I are not going out, I just . . . thought Lucy might be more interested in this than Emily, so I asked her instead. That's all."

"I see," said Amy, unblinking. "So we can assume Emily knows both that you're here and who you're with?"

Raj's smile faded; he shifted his weight awkwardly, gaze flickering from wall to wall to floor. Penny groaned and put one hand to her forehead. "Oh, _Raj_ . . . ."

"Oh boy," said Lucy. "Um, hi, everybody. Does this make me the Other Woman now?"

"No, it does not," said Raj with unexpected firmness. "You're here as my friend, period. I have the right to have female friends beside Emily, and I have the right not to have to report to her on every second of time we're apart." Then his certainty weakened as he looked around at their expressions. "Don't I?"

Howard cleared his throat and put one arm around Raj's shoulder. "Buddy, let me put it to you this way. In theory, you have those rights. In theory, with the right random quantum fluctuation, my atoms could spontaneously rearrange themselves into somebody six-foot-two with no peanut allergy and equipment the size of a horse's. In practice, we call trying to pull those off a Really. Bad. Idea. You get me?"

Raj looked disheartened. "Any chance I could ask all of you not to mention this?"

"Any chance you'll be indulging in a buying spree at the shop next week?" said Stuart. He spread his hands at the glares sent his way. "What? I still need to boost business."

Bernadette expelled an annoyed breath and turned to Raj. "Look, Raj, it's none of our business and we're happy to stay out of it, but have you forgotten who one of the key hosts is? Sheldon Cooper! The man who can't keep a secret if his life depended on it!"

"Ah, yes, but that's only if he _knows_ it's a secret and is _trying_ to keep it," said Raj, lifting a finger like a teacher correcting a student. "If I simply don't mention anything—" the door opened behind him, and Penny drew in a breath, but Raj didn't notice "—I will bet you over a thousand rupees that he won't even notice."

"Won't even notice what?" said Sheldon, standing in the doorway.

Raj winced and covered his face with his hand. Sheldon looked around at them, eyebrows furrowed; his gaze passed over Lucy without a blink of hesitation. "Won't even notice what?" he repeated.

"That . . . Raj got his hair cut!" Penny volunteered. She'd been deeply unimpressed with Lucy after what she'd done to Raj, but she couldn't muster much inclination to defend Emily Sweeney either. "Can't you tell?" She pointed to Raj's head; Raj grinned feebly and patted at his hair, which looked the same as it always did. Lucy looked at them as if they'd both flipped out.

They might as well not have bothered. The moment Sheldon's eyes fell on Amy, his expression went oddly flat; he drew himself up stiffly, as if about to launch into a tirade, but his voice came out so quietly it was difficult to hear. "Amy," he said. "Thank you for coming."

Amy opened her mouth, closed it again, then looked down. "I, uh . . . to be honest, Sheldon, I wasn't sure I would."

Sheldon's brow furrowed. "You RSVP'd. Are you saying you planned to break the social covenant of the RSVP? Especially when you more than anybody else are responsible for this?"

Amy sighed. "Sheldon, the RSVP is not a – wait." She blinked. "What do you mean, _I'm_ responsible? I thought this was your and Leonard's experiment."

"Yes. Based on a piece of nonsense mathematics that you inspired," said Sheldon, as if that should have been obvious to everybody. "It's quite frankly going to come to nothing, and I've done my best to keep out of it entirely, but Leonard, Wolowitz and Kripke insisted on sharing the blame. Or as they keep calling it, the 'credit'." He made air quotes with his fingers. "The end result is, I fully expect in the next few minutes to be publicly humiliated before President Siebert, Dr. Gablehauser, and most of the Physics Department. Oh, and apparently a few mid-level government muckety-mucks, as if they understand anything beyond what'll make a good photo op." He paused, took a breath, and went on in a more subdued tone. "But because it was thinking of you that inspired this, I decided that if I had to go through with it, you should see it, and know about it. Because . . . whatever I may have done to distress you . . . I hope this indicates I'm willing to make amends for it. That I will put my name and my reputation behind something you inspired in me. No matter what it costs my career."

Penny put a hand to her mouth, blinking, abruptly on the edge of tears. In the eight years she'd known Sheldon Cooper, that was the closest she had ever heard him come to a sincere, heartfelt apology that his mother hadn't ordered out of him. The rest of the group looked equally flabbergasted. But Amy's expression didn't change, only staring at him blankly. At last, she drew in a breath to speak.

"Yo, Coopuh!" Barry Kripke swung around the edge of the doorway. "If you've finished hobnobbing with yoah ex and yoah fwunkies, could you maybe wemind them what you came up heah to do?" He bent and grabbed up a plastic filing container that Sheldon had evidently brought up with him, then held it out to the group. "Evewybody, if you got any smahtphones or othuh gadgetwy, dwop 'em in the box, now. Theh's gonna be enough bwoad-spectwum EM wadiation wunning thwough this building to fwy anything that isn't wead-wined."

Lucy looked at Raj in bewilderment. Raj sighed, took out his phone and dropped it in the box. Lucy nodded in understanding and followed suit. One by one they all did the same; Sheldon dropped in a Kindle and a Gameboy as well. Penny gave Kripke her best meaningful eyebrow lift. "I'm gonna get this back, right? All my sales contacts are on there."

"Wewax, beautifuh," said Kripke, grinning. "I'm gonna put these in in our gwound-zewoh stowage wockah. Safe as a bank." He leaned in. "Hey, I heard you and Hofstadtah might be on the wopes. You wike Owive Gahden?"

Penny stared at him, then looked at Howard. "Oh, my God," she said. "I finally met somebody even skeevier than you used to be. I didn't think that was possible."

"So, waincheck then?" said Kripke.

10:47 A.M.

Sadly, the day's unpleasant surprises weren't over yet. As Kripke disappeared down a flight of stairs with their phones, Sheldon led the group down a short corridor to a small room full of folding metal chairs, one wall of which was floor-to-ceiling glass; it was already full of people milling about, most of whom seemed to be older men in suits. Unfortunately, one man, a lot younger than most, was very familiar to Penny. She stopped in dismay upon spotting him and ducked behind Raj. "Oh God," she whispered. "Raj, hide me!"

"What's the problem?" said Raj, obligingly turning himself and Lucy to form a barricade. Sheldon had left them at the door to the room, and Howard, Amy, and Bernadette had gone to mingle with some of the professors. Stuart lingered alone by a snack table, looking uncomfortable.

Penny peered over Raj's shoulders, between his head and Lucy's, and groaned quietly. "See the guy standing next to that tall white-haired man in the grey pinstripes? Blue suit, shaved head, earpiece?"

Raj craned his neck. "Oh yes, I see him. Wow. Looks like they body-waxed a gorilla and put a suit on it." He frowned. "That's odd. I could swear I know him from somewhere . . . ."

"You do," she muttered between clenched teeth. "It's an ex of mine from a long time ago; you met him at that Halloween party where you bonked my friend Cheryl. It's Kurt."

Raj gasped. "Oh, no, Kurt the pants-stealer?"

"Is that a euphemism I don't understand?" asked Lucy.

"No, unfortunately it's very literal," said Penny. "When I first moved into our building I'd just left Kurt; my TV was still at his place, and I, well, I kinda flirted Leonard and Sheldon into going to get it for me. They came back without their pants." She popped up to peer over Raj's shoulder again, then ducked back down. "What the hell's he doing _here?_ "

"Based on the earpiece and the way he's sizing up the room, I'd guess he's that older gentleman's bodyguard," said Lucy. Raj gave her a surprised look. She shrugged. "When you can't talk to people much, you learn a lot just by watching them. And Sheldon did say there were people here from the government. See, all the big guys are sticking close to specific people." She frowned. "They're not Secret Service, though."

"Why do you say that?" asked Raj.

"The Secret Service sidearm is a Sig Sauer," explained Lucy, then smiled lopsidedly. "Wow, say that three times fast. Anyway, if you look close you can see those guys are carrying Brownings." This time both Raj and Penny gaped at her. She shrugged again. "What? I told you I wound up with a subscription to _Guns & Ammo_. They write all about this stuff, and, you know, sometimes I spend more time on the toilet than I expect."

Penny shrugged. "I'd say TMI, but Leonard and Sheldon kinda raised my threshold for that a long time ago. Wow, so Kurt's working private security. Should've known he'd find a job that would let him keep beating people up. Big ol' 'roid-freak." Then she stiffened, catching sight of yet another unwelcome face near the door. "Oh boy."

"What now?"

Penny struggled to find words, then gave up. "Raj—good luck. I'd stick around but I think I'd only make this worse. 'Bye." She ducked out from behind them and hurried across the room, having to crouch down even farther to hide once she wound up behind Bernadette and Howard. "Guys," she whispered, "I think we've got a problem."

"What's wrong?" said Bernadette. Penny only pointed at the door; Bernadette followed her finger, and gasped. "Oh, no." She elbowed Howard, interrupting his conversation with several of the other attendees. "Howie, I think we'd better go help Raj."

Howard cleared his throat meaningfully. "Bernie," he said through an artificially wide smile, "I'm right in the middle of a very important conversation with President Siebert—"

"Emily's here."

The smile vanished. "Oh, crap. Sorry, gents, President Siebert; gotta dash," said Howard to the bemused men, then followed Bernie back over to where Emily was angrily confronting Raj and Lucy, the latter looking even more terrified than the former. Penny stayed right where she was. Emily didn't like her any more than she liked Emily, and there was absolutely nothing she could do for Raj at this point.

One of the suited men, a fiftyish fellow with large dark eyes and a wide mouth, looked at her with a raised eyebrow. "I remember you from Professor Tupperman's memorial, don't I?" he said in a plummy voice. "You're Dr. Hofstadter's fiancée." He offered his hand. "No reason you should remember an old bureaucrat like me; Doctor Gene Siebert, President of CalTech."

"Hi," said Penny, summoning up her best saleswoman's smile and shaking his hand. "Yeah, that's me. Penny Carmichaels, soon to be Hofstadter. Here to support my man, like always."

Siebert laughed. "Yes, Dr. Hofstadter mentioned he'd invited you to watch the experiment." He leaned in close and dropped his voice. "Between you and me, I was rather hoping you'd wear that black dress again. If Dr. Hofstadter could write down the formula that brought you two together, that would _truly_ be a breakthrough day for science."

Penny's smile felt tight. She sighed. "Yeah, I've heard that before. Um—excuse me; I should really go be with my friends." Even Emily's bitchiness would be better than this. No longer bothering to crouch, she walked back across the room.

Raj and Emily were in full-blown "quiet fight" mode, nose to nose and snarling at each other in the choked tones of people who really wanted to shout and couldn't. Beside Raj, Lucy looked as if she wanted to fall through the floor; Amy, Stuart, Howard and Bernadette had gathered in a circle, watching. "It's not that you're here with some other girl," Emily seethed. "It's that you fucking _lied_ to me about it! And you didn't even _ask_ me if I wanted to come along with you!"

Remarkably, Raj came right back at her. "Gee, Emily, I wonder why I didn't tell you to your face that just once I might prefer somebody else's company for something I'm interested in and I know you're not? Oh, right, could it be because you would _lose your shit_ , like you're doing right now? And by the way, Emily, considering the invite came via an e-mail I know you weren't CC'd on, you mind telling me exactly how you found out about all this? Maybe by reading my e-mail without permission?"

"Oh, please, when you use your dog's name as your password for _everything_ that's practically a public invitation. And you've got some nerve complaining about violations of privacy, Mr. Drawer-Snooper." Emily put her hands on her hips and glared at Lucy, who cringed back. "You didn't seriously expect to steal him back, did you? Here's a hint: it helps if you can actually _have sex_ with someone."

Lucy gulped, breathing heavily, then abruptly broke away and dashed for the viewing room's door—only to pull to a stop as a couple of staffers swung the doors shut. The lights dimmed, and the crowd began moving towards the chairs, taking seats and peering out as the lights came up in the chamber beyond. Emily glared at Raj, clearly restrained only by her disinclination to make a scene at the moment, then snarled under her breath at him, "This is _not_ over," grabbed his hand and dragged him to a chair in the raised back row. Howard and Bernadette exchanged rueful looks and followed.

Stuart glanced after them, then began drifting towards the doors, where Lucy huddled in the farthest corner. Penny intercepted him with a raised arm. "Oh my God, you aren't seriously going to try hitting on Lucy now, are you?!" she hissed.

"What?" Stuart spread his hands. "It's not a funeral—is there a rule or something?"

"Oh for God's sake, _sit down._ " Penny dragged Stuart to the seat beside Howard and slammed him down in it by main force. She looked around for Amy, and finally found her sitting in a different corner by herself. Penny bit her lip and went over, dropping into the seat beside her just as Leonard's voice came over the speakers.

"Good morning, President Siebert, distinguished professors and guests," he said. With the lights dimmed, the viewers had a clear view of the brightly-lit chamber beyond. Craning her neck, Penny saw a wide open area something like a small gymnasium, the walls and floor of unfinished grey cement; pipes and cabling ran down every wall and wove over the floor in a tangled web, converging on a device like nothing she had ever seen. It reminded her of nothing so much as a giant charm bracelet—a perfectly circular torus some eight yards wide, wrapped in coils of gold and silvery wire, suspended aloft by square spoked frames of polished girders and thick metal brackets that divided it into segments like the hours of a clock face. Above and beyond it, on the far wall, a screen as large as a small movie theatre's gleamed black and blank; directly over the torus, a gigantic round metal dish hung on cables like a lid being lowered onto a pot. A bank of screens, LED lights, dials and computer keyboards squatted to one side; half a dozen white-coated figures—Sheldon and Kripke among them, as well as Leonard's old girlfriend Leslie Winkle—were busy doing incomprehensible things with the controls.

Leonard himself stood at a lone mike stand, a binder in his hand, looking up at the observation window. "My name is Dr. Leonard Hofstadter, and we'd like to welcome you to the inaugural run of JPL's new compact particle accelerator, which uses plasma wakefield acceleration to achieve efficiencies previously thought impossible." Barely suppressed excitement thrummed in his voice; he looked more alive, happier and more alert, than Penny had seen in months, eyes flashing behind his spectacles. A momentary wrench pulled at her—she'd forgotten how much it turned her on to see him like this.

"This series of trial runs has been dedicated to testing the output of fully half a giga-electron-volt per metre," Leonard went on, "at frequencies calculated to manifest a possible subatomic transition particle between gravity and the strong nuclear force, as per the integrative equation written by Dr. Sheldon Cooper. Sheldon, if you'd like to stand up, please?"

Sheldon only shook his head vigorously without turning around. Leonard looked discomfited. "Okay, with his usual I wish I could say modesty, Dr. Cooper would rather we proceed. Dr. Winkle, if you could activate the viewscreen?"

At her station, Leslie leaned forward and flipped a switch. Penny held her breath, waiting for the screen to light up, wondering what it would show. Instead, Leslie's snide tones crackled over the loudspeaker. "I'm sorry, Leonard, I'm afraid I can't do that."

Leonard blinked. "Uh, what? Why not?"

"'Cause you've still got the remote in your pocket."

Muffled snickers went up around the observation chamber. Leonard's mouth tightened. "Of course I do," he muttered, not quite quietly enough for the mike to miss it, and dug a remote control out of his white coat. "And with some attempt to recapture the dignity of the moment, please observe the viewscreen." He pointed the remote at the screen, pressing a button. The screen flickered and came alight with a dark reddish radiance, bathing the chamber in a carmine glow. Penny repressed a gulp. "If the particle predicted by Dr. Cooper's theory exists," said Leonard, "we will see gold light tracks on this screen as they escape the smashed atoms in the accelerator, to be captured by the tracking dish above the torus. We're going to begin the power-up routine . . . now." He turned and signaled to Kripke, who began flipping banks of switches. A low hum filled the air.

"Pretty cool, huh, bestie?" Amy murmured to Penny, not quite able to repress a smile. "Times like this I wish I'd gone into physics. I love dissecting brains, but some of Sheldon's toys are just awesome."

Penny had to nod. "They are. I don't understand anything Leonard just said but that thing _looks_ like something out of one of their movies." She hesitated. "Uh—what does it do, exactly? Cliffs Notes version, please."

"Ah. Well, basically, it uses really powerful magnets to smash subatomic particles into each other so hard that when they break, they give off even smaller particles, some of which are things that carry the fundamental forces of the universe. Leonard's using Sheldon's theory to look for a kind of particle that, uh, that converts one force into another—like turning gravity into electricity."

Penny's eyebrows shot up. "Oh, my God. What happens if they find it?"

Amy gave her a serious look. "Well, they basically rewrite everything we think we know about how the universe works, Penny. But if Sheldon's right, it's not going to work. Leonard is essentially using the fact that they have to do test runs on this machine anyway as a way to indulge the bluest of blue-sky long shots."

"Oh." Penny subsided, surprised at her own disappointment. She had her issues with Sheldon, but she had to admit that she had almost never seen him actually be wrong on a matter of scientific fact. Then a thought occurred to her; she frowned at Amy. "Is that why they were able to score us invitations? Because they're expecting this not to work, so it doesn't have to be classified?"

Amy shrugged. "Probably, bestie. Sorry."

"Then why were those government people here?"

"Money." The voice that said this spoke almost as quietly as they had, but Penny stiffened in fury and—she had to admit it—fright as a large, unnervingly strong hand fell on her shoulder. Kurt took the empty seat beside Penny and smiled at her, his teeth white in the gloom. "Tell a politician there's even a chance of a big money-making breakthrough, and he'll be at ground zero if he can. Of course, if it's a crazy blue-sky long shot, it'll be low-level hacks who don't rate Secret Service, but hey—more money for me. Hello, Penny. Been a while."

Penny's heart lurched. In his own way, Kurt still had all the presence that had drawn her when she'd first met him. She'd never been scared of him back then, even though they'd fought like cats and dogs, but she'd been a lot younger and more naïve. And Kurt hadn't carried a gun. She swallowed, feeling her heartbeat hammer in her throat and chest. "Hi, Kurt."

"I like the haircut. You look good. Real . . . professional." Kurt leaned closer, eyes holding hers, almost magnetically. He touched her left hand, and she started. "A ring, huh? Am I too late?"

"Yes, you are," said Amy, voice low but fierce. Kurt scowled at her, but Amy was undaunted. "She's engaged. To the man running this entire operation, an award-winning world-renowned scientist. So I would strongly recommend simply extending your best wishes and moving on, sir."

Kurt chuckled, an oddly chilling sound. "World-renowned scientist. Funny. Way I remember it, he's a dwarf who dresses up in fantasy costumes. Yeah, I asked a few questions before I came over to say hi." He tilted his head, narrowing his eyes. "What happened to you, Penny? Girl I knew, she'd never have settled for a _nice guy_. Girl I knew wanted the world at her feet. She could've had it, too, along with all the men she wanted. Sad."

Abruptly, Penny's temper detonated. But the explosion didn't burst out of her in a shriek of rage; instead, it shot along her nerves, igniting them, burning away all her fear, all her worry and doubt. Her skin seemed to throb with anger. She leaned in close to Kurt, matching his gaze with a glare. Her voice came out like stone, quiet but utterly unyielding. "Know what, Kurt? That girl's gone. She grew up. And I didn't settle for a 'nice guy', I settled for a _great_ guy. I settled for a guy who's got more honesty in his little finger than you ever had in your whole goddamn steroid-drenched body. I settled for a guy who was willing to risk our relationship for the sake of being straight with me. And the moment this experiment's done, I'm going to take him away to Vegas and marry him, and I never want to see you again. Are we clear?"

Kurt stared at her, more taken aback than Penny ever remembered seeing him in her life. Amy looked oddly stricken.

Without warning, Kurt's hand flashed up, knotted in the fabric of her blouse and yanked Penny forward, pulling her face to within an inch of his. His blazing eyes bored into hers, and Penny felt him breathing with the same pulsing anger she could feel on her own skin, and in her skull. An even worse wrench went through her as she realized there was more than a little arousal entwined with that anger, just as there had been so long ago when they fought. It felt wrong now, sickening, as it hadn't back then—but it was still there. Her anger turned on herself with a sting of pain. Holy God, if Kurt could still do this to her, what was _wrong_ with her? Maybe she didn't deserve Leonard after all—

She suddenly realized it wasn't just her. That pulsing, throbbing noise was in the air itself, was vibrating through the floor, strong enough for her to feel it in her butt through the chair. Amy's hand grabbed Penny by the wrist. Kurt let her go and looked back at the window, frowning. Leonard's voice came over the speakers again. "Ladies and gentlemen, I'm pleased to announce we have successfully achieved full power on the primary particle stream—as I'm sure anyone sitting down at the moment can tell you." The chuckles that went up this time were audibly uneasy, but Leonard, of course, couldn't tell. "We'll be injecting our counterstream in less than thirty seconds. At that time, we should start seeing . . . well, whatever there is to see. I hope you're all as excited as I am!"

A click over the speakers signalled the activation of another microphone. "That seems profoundly unlikely, Dr. Hofstadter," said Sheldon, "as anybody smart enough to know why you're excited should be smart enough to understand why they shouldn't be."

A third click. "And anybody who thinks we should bother listening to the dumbass Dr. Cooper at this point is more than welcome to leave," said Leslie Winkle. "Which includes the dumbass Dr. Cooper himself, just to say."

Yet another click. "And anybody who's wasting time on cheap shots is kindwy invited to _shut the heww up_ and get back to fwippin' wuhk!" snapped Kripke. "Dr. Hofstadtah, we'h at fuh powah on our counterstweam, initiating pulse in ten seconds from youh mahk—mahk, pwease?"

"Uh, mahk. _Mark_." Leonard clutched the binder to him as if it were a shield. He had turned to stare up at the big viewscreen, still empty of everything except that red glow and a series of codes lining the top and bottom edges—Penny recognized the date, but nothing else. The accelerator was vibrating with power, and the space in the centre of the torus looked oddly . . . _strained_. Penny rubbed her eyes, wondering if she was seeing this right. The space within the torus looked as if it were a painting on canvas stretched just a little too tight.

"Initiating counterstweam," said Kripke over the speakers, "now."

The pulsing throb in the air kicked up another notch. The distortion in the air grew even more pronounced. It actually hurt Penny's eyes to look at, now. Her vision seemed to blur, filling with flickering dots. She felt dizzy, and put a hand on Amy's shoulder for support. Amy blinked at her. "Bestie?" she said, or Penny thought she did—her voice sounded far away and thick, under water.

A streak of gold flashed across the red light of the viewscreen.

Penny felt too hazy to realize what that meant. But from the gasps, and at least one outright yelp of shock in a voice that sounded suspiciously like Raj's, everybody else did. Another streak of gold flashed across the viewscreen. Then a third. Then two at once. Then a flurry of them. Abruptly the entire room exploded to its feet, bursting into cheers. Kurt leapt from his chair and hurried back to whoever his client was, not even glancing at Penny. She didn't bother to watch him go.

"I don't believe it!" Amy was shouting, sounding overjoyed. "I don't believe it! They actually saw gluon-graviton transition particles! Dozens of them! My Lord, do they even have a name for them yet? Penny, bestie, this is Nobel Prize stuff! This is—" She stopped, and bent down to take Penny's face between her hands. Penny blinked dazedly at her. "Penny, are you okay?"

"I feel . . . really bad," Penny slurred. For the first time, she was grateful she'd been too out of sorts to eat breakfast. It would have been on the floor by now if she had.

"Oh, boy. Okay, bestie, we'd better get you to a doctor. Come on." Amy threw Penny's arm around her shoulder, lifting her up with a momentary stagger. "Ugh, God—you had to be a statuesque goddess, didn't you? Couldn't be a cute little Japanese waif half Leonard's size."

"Sorry," Penny managed. The throbbing had gotten into her head, her stomach, her muscles. The light spilling through the window had shifted, gone golden with the swarm of dots now covering the viewscreen. Over the crowd's excited babble, she dimly heard Leonard's voice going on over the speakers about initiating powerdown, or something like that; with dreamlike clearness she suddenly realized she could hear Raj and Emily shouting at each other again, and thought she could feel the pressure of Kurt's eyes on her back, burning like Leonard's lasers. The doors came closer and closer.

Unexpectedly a small, strong arm slid around her from the other side. Penny brought her head up with an effort, and met Lucy's wide, worried eyes. _Are you okay?_ the other girl mouthed. Penny could only shake her head slowly, but she mouthed back, _Thank you._ Her dizziness grew worse. The observation chamber seemed to be swaying, long, lazy rolls back and forth. They got to the doors, where Amy let Lucy take over supporting Penny and snapped a sharp order at the staffers. The two young men took one look at Penny and immediately turned to open the doors.

The doors wouldn't open. Looking startled, the staffers pushed at them again, harder. They still didn't move. The staffers braced their feet and shoved as hard as they could; there wasn't even the flex of a door twisting around its lock-point, as Penny had sometimes seen. One of the staffers went to a wall panel, tapped buttons and began jabbering into a pickup mike. Penny squinted hazily. The guy's hair seemed to be lifting up around him, like he was touching one of those static generators she'd seen on TV. How was he doing that?

Leonard's voice suddenly came over the speaker, now much higher-pitched, crackling badly with static. "Uh, ladies and gentlemen, we seem to be experiencing some, ah, some temporary technical difficulties with the accelerator, a momentary, uh, lock in our power input—it's nothing to worry about, but for safety's sake, I'd like to ask everyone to exit the building at this time in an orderly fashion—" Through the window, the golden light filling the accelerator chamber suddenly flashed blue-white. Then again, even more brightly. A stink of ozone filled the air. Leonard's voice broke. "Uh, you know what folks, screw orderly, get the _hell out of the building, now!_ "

The two staffers looked at each other, eyes wide with panic. They stepped back and both flung themselves against the doors—and were thrown back with a thunderous _crack_ by arcing bursts of electrical energy. Lucy screamed and pulled Penny back from the door, just in time to avoid the crush of people that hurtled towards them, only to be likewise bowled over by more bursts of power. Amy dodged her way through to plant herself next to Lucy and Penny, flattening themselves against the wall, out of the way. "What the hell's going on?" Lucy cried.

"I don't know!" shouted Amy.

"It's the EM radiation!" Unnoticed, Howard, Bernadette and Stuart had slid along the wall to join them; Bernadette looked frankly terrified, Howard as if he couldn't decide between terror or engineer's monomania. "The accelerator's overloading, it's throwing off enough electromagnetic power to earth through the metal doors! Even if you had insulating gloves, nobody's gonna get those to move now—it's like the world's strongest mag-lock!"

"And so we're trapped inside a building about to blow up," said Stuart, a painful smile on his face. "You know, I should've guessed. I really should've."

"Oh, God, Howie, do something!" Bernadette wailed. "We've got to get out of here! I'm—" She stopped, then pulled Howard's head down and whispered something in his ear. Penny couldn't hear what it was, but it hit Howard like a sledgehammer. His face went blank.

Without a word, he stood up, looked around, then pushed his way through the crowd to the far wall, where Raj and Emily had backed to safety, and shouted something she couldn't hear at Emily. The light flashed blue-white again, more rapidly, turning them into strobing silhouettes. Penny's eyelids felt heavy. She saw Emily pull out a pair of surgical gloves and snap them on. The three of them ran back to the doors; as if sensing something was happening, the crowd cleared the way for them. Howard set a folding chair upright, and Emily stepped onto it, reaching up to the ceiling and knocking away an insulation panel. She looked down at Howard. "What am I looking for?" she yelled.

"Any kind of electrical cable!" Howard shouted back. "It'll probably be metal-sheathed, like a plumber's snake—you see anything like that?"

"Yes! Yes, I do!"

"Okay, grab it and pull it down—jump off the chair if you have to!" Emily did, and with a series of wrenching snaps a loop of cable followed her down, ripping through the ceiling's insulation panels. Howard joined her to pull more of it out, impatiently gesturing for Raj and Stuart to help. The blue-white light blazed on and off through the window, making their movements jump and flash. Penny bent to one side and dry-heaved. Only bile came up.

"Okay, okay, that's it!" yelled Howard. He looked around. "Um, okay, now we need a volunteer, and this is actually, um, this is the really really dangerous part. We need somebody to put that cable into contact with the doors, so it'll give the power an alternate route to earth out and unlock them."

Stuart stared at him. "Why is that dangerous?"

"Because if the person making contact is too slow he'll get fatally electrocuted," said President Siebert, sounding grim. "Well, step aside, Mr. Wolowitz. This is my university, and my responsibility—"

"Oh for God's sake," Emily burst out. Before anybody could move she'd grabbed the cable up again in one rubber-gloved hand. Sprinting to the doors, she spun on one foot and hurled the cable against the metal locking bar. An earsplitting _CRACK_ burst through the room; the doors snapped open, flying outwards and off their hinges to crash to the floor outside in warped and blackened ruin. Emily flew back through the air as if hit by a giant's golf club making a line drive, hit the far wall, and then the floor, where she didn't move. Smoke curled off her clothes.

" _Emily!_ " screamed Raj. He ran to her side. Strangely, Lucy was right beside him. Howard half-reached back after them before Bernadette yanked him off his feet and out through the doorway, along with Stuart, Siebert and the rest of the crowd. Penny saw Kurt hauling his employer along, shamelessly punching people out of his way left and right; their eyes met for a moment as Kurt went through the door, and then he was gone. And then the room was empty except for the unconscious staffers, Amy and Penny, and Raj and Lucy crouched over Emily's limp body. The blue-white light through the window was constant now, flashing like the world's fiercest lightning storm. Penny could feel the entire building shaking under her back.

 _I'm going to die here,_ she thought, quite calmly. _I'm never going to be Leonard's wife after all._ Which was really kinda sad, when you thought about it.

Footsteps sounded outside the wrecked doors. A tall, gaunt figure appeared in the doorway, long coat fluttering around him. Penny squinted at it. Was this Death?

"Penny, Amy Farrah Fowler, I've been officially released from my responsibilities by the designated head of this experiment," said Sheldon, talking faster than Penny had ever heard. "I'd like to usher you both to a place of safety at the earliest possible opportunity, which would be, um, now. In fact I'd really very strongly urge you both to _run, now, right now_. Raj, Lucy, that goes for the both of you too."

Penny drew in a breath, gathered all her will and pushed herself upright. "Where's Leonard?" she rasped.

"Leonard . . . has refused to release himself from _his_ responsibilities. He's still down there trying to shut the accelerator down." Sheldon stared at the floor. "I'll have to compose a song."

"Then I'm staying." Penny put one hand on Amy's shoulder, and realized the other woman was crying. Wow. They really _had_ been besties, hadn't they. "Amy? Bestie? Go. You know it's the only way Sheldon will leave too."

Raj came up, staggering, Emily in his arms. Lucy gave Penny a stricken look. "We can't, though, right? We can't just leave you?"

"Lucy. If Leonard pulls this off, I'll be all right. And if he doesn't pull it off . . . I don't want to be." She looked at Sheldon. "Sheldon, you know how to reach my parents. Do that for me. Okay?"

Sheldon could only nod. Amy's face was tearstained. As if neither of them could stand to watch any more, they turned and ran. Penny couldn't help but see that they were holding hands. Raj and Lucy hurried after, carrying Emily. Penny took a few moments to breathe slowly and deeply, gathering her strength. Then she rolled onto her hands and knees and began to crawl.

The room wasn't that large. Even crawling, it only took about a minute to cross. At last she managed to plaster herself against the observation window, staring down. The accelerator had disappeared into a column of blue-white light, throwing off long arcs of electrical power. Leonard was alone in the chamber, frantically dashing from console to console, typing commands and flipping switches in a frenzy. After a few seconds, he stepped back and ran both hands through his hair, desperate, terrified, and exhausted. Penny lifted one arm and tapped feebly on the window.

There was no way Leonard could have heard it. But as if pulled by strings, his head slowly turned to look up at the observation window all the same. Their eyes met. She could see the heartbreak in his, and her own heart melted.

 _I love you_ , she mouthed at him. And suddenly all her dizziness and nausea dissolved; her brain was alert and clear, her blood singing. She felt better than she ever had in her life. Completely by reflex, she smiled in nothing but sheer, helpless joy. She felt like she was glowing.

Tears spilled down Leonard's cheeks. A blinding aura of light surrounded him. He touched his heart, pointed at her and mouthed back, _I love_ —

The world went white, then black.


	2. Chapter 2

THE METAHUMAN TRANSFIGURATION

 **Description:** The gang gets superpowers. It's not as cool as some of them always thought. Alternate Season 9 premiere.

 **Disclaimer:** The author does not own THE BIG BANG THEORY or any of the characters.

\- 2 -

HUNTINGTON MEMORIAL HOSPITAL

100 WEST CALIFORNIA BOULEVARD, PASADENA, CALIFORNIA

THURSDAY, AUGUST 27, 2015, 2:05 P.M.

Leonard opened his eyes and stared at the ceiling. Had he been sleeping with his glasses on? The roof of whatever room he was in looked perfectly clear. He reached up to touch his face, and frowned. No, his glasses weren't on. Where—?

He looked over at the table beside his bed, and several things struck him all at the same time. One, this was a hospital room, and he was hooked up to an IV and a boatload of sensors. Two, the glasses without which he was functionally blind were sitting on that table, and he could see them with utter sharp-edged clarity. Three, he knew he wasn't wearing contacts—he'd tried once while dating Priya, and the softest, lightest lenses available had still felt like sandpaper in his eyes. Four, he felt physically better than he had in years. Maybe physically better than he ever had. Wondering if he was dreaming, he reached over, grabbed the glasses and put them on.

"Ow!" The distortion of looking through the lenses was physically painful. He took them off in reflex, stared at them, then tried again, with the same result. He gaped at the glasses. Hadn't he seen this scene in Sam Raimi's first _Spider-Man_ movie?

He could not have said what instinct moved him to it, but abruptly he took the spectacles and worked his thumbnail around the edges of the lenses until he was able to pop them out—thankfully, they were an old pair, and due for replacement anyway. He replaced the empty plastic frames on his face. They felt lighter without the lenses, but their presence was reassuring nonetheless—one touch of familiarity in a world gone strange. The same instinct was urging him to rip the sensor-pads off and get that IV out of his arm, but there he stopped, his scientific training kicking in: _don't screw with somebody else's tech unless you know what you're doing_ —

"Oh, shit," he said out loud, as memory crashed back in upon him. _Penny._ That was enough to override all else. Carefully, he peeled off the tape and slid the IV needle out; it stung, but he was too focused to care. One by one the sensor pads came off, leaving red patches of hairless skin on his chest. He swung himself out of the bed and ran to the door, hauling it open.

Two big men in dark suits immediately appeared in his path; they'd been sitting by the door outside. Leonard gaped at them. One of them lifted his wrist to his mouth and began muttering into it, while the other stepped forward and took Leonard firmly by the shoulder. "Dr. Hofstadter," he said. "We're glad to see you up. But I'm afraid you're going to have to wait here for a moment."

"Where's Penny?"

"Miss Carmichaels is fine. She's resting in another room here. She's not injured."

Leonard blinked. "Well, how the hell did that happen?" he asked. Then he looked down at himself. "Come to think of it, how am I fine? What the hell _did_ happen?"

"We don't know, Doctor. We're in the process of trying to find that out." The suited man exerted pressure, gently but firmly pushing Leonard back. "Please, if you'll just return to your room . . . ."

Leonard resisted. "Look, please, just tell me what happened! Was anybody else hurt? My friends? The other scientists? The invited observers?"

The suited man glanced at his partner, who shrugged. He looked back at Leonard and sighed. "Doctor, I'm not authorized to disclose that. But I can tell you this. Everybody's fine. There were no injuries." He hesitated. "In fact, let me repeat that. There were _no_ injuries. At all. To anyone."

"Oh. Oh, thank God. Thank—" Leonard stopped. "Wait. How . . . how is that even possible?"

"I think, Doctor, they're kind of hoping you can tell them," said the other man, and nodded down the corridor. Leonard turned. Another group of grim-looking suited people were marching towards them, led by a slender dark-haired young woman who looked strangely familiar. Leonard squinted. Then his eyes went wide as the group came up to him.

"Special Agent _Page?_ " he blurted.

FBI Special Agent Angela Page smiled coolly at him. "Hello, Dr. Hofstadter. Long time no see. I understand you're engaged now; congratulations. Does that mean I won't get any more invitations for a night I'll never forget?" One of the men beside her gave her a curious look. She waved him away. "Tell you later," she murmured.

Leonard stared at her. "What's the FBI doing here? What's going on? Is anybody going to answer any of my questions any time soon?"

"We'd like to get started on that process as soon as possible, actually," said Page. "We had some of your clothes brought to your room while you were unconscious. If you'd like to get dressed and follow me, assuming you're up to it?"

"Sure, but—wait. How long was I out?"

Page glanced at her watch. "A little over forty-eight hours; you've been here at Huntington Memorial for most of that. A lot's been happening in that time. Please, Doctor. Go get dressed."

Forty-eight hours? Leonard shook his head, feeling poleaxed. Two days in a coma. Surviving what could have been a city-flattening disaster totally uninjured. And waking up with, apparently, twenty-twenty vision instead of the myopia he'd had his whole life.

What the hell was going _on_ here?

2:28 P.M.

Once Leonard had dressed, Agent Page and her team took him to a boardroom on the hospital's second floor, where she sat down and plugged in a laptop while half her team took up guard positions outside. She ignored Leonard's questions, and after two or three attempts he gave up. Some minutes later, two of Page's men brought in Sheldon, Howard and Raj. None of them were wearing the clothes they'd worn the day of the experiment—it was fairly easy to tell because it was the first time in months he'd seen Harold without a dickey, Raj without a sweater-vest or Sheldon without a superhero T-shirt.

"Guys!" Leonard jumped up and hugged all three of them, even the visibly uncomfortable Sheldon, all of them exchanging reassurances. Once he'd satisfied himself they were all okay he immediately grabbed Sheldon by the shoulders. "Sheldon, did you see what happened to Penny? Why didn't you get her out? Is Amy okay? Have you worked out what went wrong with the equation? Talk to me, buddy! They won't tell me a damn thing except that Penny's resting somewhere else."

"Yeah, they gave me the same runaround about Bernadette," Howard growled. Then he noticed Page, and rounded on her. "Hey, listen, lady, I—Agent Page?!"

"Mr. Wolowitz," said Page, not looking at him as she connected her laptop to the tabletop projector. "Why is it every time I talk to you it seems to involve damage to immensely expensive government-funded property?"

Howard mustered a pained grin. "Just lucky, I guess." The smile vanished; he slapped his hands on the table and leant down to get into her sightline. "Listen, Agent Page, whatever happened in that room two days ago, the only thing I care about right now is my wife. Because the last thing I remember her telling me, before I figured out how to get that door open and get us out of there, is that she was pregnant. So I'm not answering any piddly-ass questions until I get to _see_ her, am I making myself clear?"

Raj's mouth fell open; he pressed his hands to his cheeks. "Oh, my God, Bernadette's _pregnant?_ Oh, dude, congratulations! Holy Krishna, you're gonna be a _daddy!_ " He flapped his hands at his own face like a beauty-pageant winner, eyes and mouth crinkling up. "Oh my God, I think I'm going to cry!" He lunged forward and threw his arms around Howard, hugging him tightly. Howard patted Raj's hands awkwardly, looking like he couldn't decide between a smile or a grimace.

Leonard looked at Sheldon, who jerked his head at Howard. "You may as well congratulate him now, Leonard," he said brusquely, and sat down in one of the empty chairs, folding his arms. "Lord knows if we're going to get another chance before we're all sent up the river to the big house."

Page frowned at him. "Excuse me, what?"

"The big house," said Sheldon. "The pokey. The hoosegow. The slammer. Hard time. At least I assume that's what you're here to tell us? Leonard tried to play with somebody else's toy and broke it. That never ends well for anybody. I know." He stared at the tabletop with haunted eyes. "Forgive me, Tiny Toy Spock," he murmured. "Forgive me."

Leonard gave Page an apologetic shrug. "Okay, look, he's normally crazy, but this is a step up even for him," he said. "Seriously, if we are facing charges, I think we get to talk to a lawyer, don't we?"

Page folded her hands. "Nobody's being charged with anything, Dr. Hofstadter. Not yet, at any rate. But I should warn you that that's contingent on your cooperation—as is getting to see the people who are special to you. We have a number of questions we think only you can answer. And now that you, Dr. Cooper, Dr. Koothrappali and Mr. Wolowitz are here, I'd like to show you what our first question is about." She got up, went to the boardroom wall and pressed a switch; a projection screen slid down out of the ceiling. "Sit down, please."

There didn't seem to be anything else to do. Exchanging glances, Leonard, Raj and Howard all sat. Page heaved a sigh, turned off the lights and sat back down at her laptop. "This," she said, "is satellite footage taken two days ago at 11:02 a.m. Pacific time, from a surveillance satellite over the California coast. Watch." She pressed a key on her laptop. An arc of the Earth, all blue, white, brown and green, came up on the screen, the triangle-in-circle "play" arrow sitting in the centre of the image. Page slid her cursor to the arrow and clicked upon it. The image didn't move.

"Okay," said Howard, frowning, "so what are we looking at?"

"Wait for it," said Page, holding up a finger.

Leonard frowned. "Look, Agent Page, I really don't see the need for—" He stopped, sucking in his breath. On the screen, a pinpoint of searing blue-white light had ignited from a point somewhere in—he frowned, calculating it—the Greater Los Angeles basin, stabbing its brilliance upwards like a spear thrust out into space. For a moment, that impossible spear held steady. Then a shockwave burst out from it, a coruscating circular ripple rolling out in all directions as if someone had thrown a stone into a puddle. Seconds later, its inverse returned, rolled back into itself and vanished, along with the original point of light. Leonard stared, his mouth open. Howard, Raj and Sheldon all looked similarly thunderstruck.

"That energy shockwave," said Page, "traversed the entire planet and returned to source in less than five seconds. And our calculations indicate that its point of origin was the Boer Laboratory building, on the JPL campus at CalTech. More precisely, they indicate its point of origin was the chamber where their new Mark III plasma wakefield particle accelerator was undergoing its first tests. This is what that building looks like now." She clicked to another picture.

Raj gasped. Howard grimaced. Leonard stood, feeling as if someone had hit him, and moved slowly towards the screen. The building had been levelled—worse than some structures he'd seen in photos of war zones. Not a single girder or column still stood upright. The destruction had spread to areas outside the building as well; holes in walls, flipped cars, broken fire hydrants. In a couple of places, Leonard could see limbs sticking out from under piles of wreckage; his gorge rose in his throat.

Then he remembered something. "Wait a moment. Your man, back at my room—he told me nobody had been injured. At all."

"He was right," said Page, not blinking. "Which is our second question. Everybody we rescued from that wreckage, and from the affected areas beyond, was in a coma. Yet none of them showed a scratch. Exactly how do you do that much damage to inanimate matter and not touch a single person? What kind of phenomenon did you unleash two days ago? We have people _very_ high up in our government who are _very_ worried about the weaponization potential implicit in this incident."

Leonard opened his mouth, unsure what he was going to say, when he was interrupted. "Agent Page," said Sheldon, frowning, "you don't by any chance have a map of the points where people were recovered, do you?"

For the first time, Page looked taken off guard. "I, uh, I believe we do—"

"Can you superimpose it on that display of the wreckage?"

Page frowned at her laptop. "I don't know. I guess it's possible, but—"

"Of course it's possible, and of course you don't know how. See, the poor training you people get on computers is half of why we're still fighting the War on Drugs, right here." Sheldon thrust himself to his feet, strode around the table and shoved Page aside from the laptop, ignoring her outraged look. His fingers flew over the keys. "Where's the recovery map?"

"Excuse me, _Dr._ Cooper, but—"

"Oh, for heaven's sake, woman, we're talking about a world-changing event here, I don't think we have time to indulge social protocols, _where's the flipping map?_ " He gave her a glare that reminded Leonard of nothing so much as Dr. Rotwang from _Metropolis_ , bug-eyed and blazing, and Page reeled back in shock. After a moment, she tapped the screen, evidently pointing to a specific file, and Sheldon snorted. " _Thank_ you," he said. "Now, let's resize that, make the back layers transparent, rotate it a little, and . . . here."

A scattered array of white dots appeared on the picture of the wreckage. Sheldon adjusted the spacing, then stood and folded his arms, nodding in satisfaction. "There," he said. Then, as nobody said anything, he stared around at them. "Oh, good grief. Are all of you telling me you don't _see_ it?"

Raj sighed. "Dude, you're scaring Agent Page, and she's already scared enough by all of this. Please try making a little sense." Page gave him a strange look, but Raj didn't notice. "So that's where they found everybody who was knocked out in the blast. So what?"

"No. Wait. I think . . . I think _I_ see it." Howard leant forward, staring at the projection screen with the almost monomaniacal focus Leonard had only seen from him when utterly focused on an engineering problem or a girl's cleavage. He got up too and went to the computer. "Agent Page, may I—?" Page rolled her eyes and waved one hand, clearly fed up. Howard began clicking, typing and sliding, the mouse scooting all over the place. At last a menu asked him, _Change BG Color for Selection?_ "Yes, indeedy, I'm changing colour," he muttered, and clicked.

The shadows of the wreckage all lit up in bright green. And the patterns they made hit Leonard in the face like a padded mallet. From the Lassie-like squeak Raj made as he covered his mouth with both fists, he saw it too. Page only stared. "So . . . what is it?"

Leonard cleared his throat. "Agent Page," he managed, "the fallout pattern of the wreckage shows a consistent outward-forcing distribution around every point of recovery. Don't you see what that means?" Page didn't answer, and at last Leonard sighed. "It means that the concussive force that brought that building down . . . it came—" He had to pause and swallow. "It came from _us._ "

Page frowned. "I don't understand. How could the force come from _you?_ "

"I don't know!" Leonard had to get to his feet, pacing around, gesturing as he thought out loud. "Maybe it didn't come _from_ us. Maybe the people in that building were just the, the focal points for something that was projected from elsewhere. But that's how everybody survived without a scratch: Nobody got _hit_ , because everything was being forced _away_ from us. It brought everything else down around us but _we_ were protected." He turned to Page and jabbed his finger on the table. "So it wasn't whatever shockwave the experiment set off. It was whatever that shockwave did to—" He stopped, his eyes suddenly widening.

"Whatever it did to the people it hit," said Page, quietly. "Or some of them, at any rate." She closed her laptop down and unplugged the projector; the projection screen flipped to a blue NO SIGNAL field. Page stood, tucking the laptop under her arm. "I think we're going to need to run a considerably greater amount of tests than we had expected. Starting with the four of you, and everybody else who was in that building and nearby. I'm sorry, Dr. Hofstadter, I don't think you're going to be able to see your fiancée just yet." Without another word she turned and left the room, closing the door behind her. A moment later the click of a lock echoed through the air.

Leonard dropped into a chair, massaging his head. "Oh, man," he said. "What the hell is happening? I mean that. What the hell have we done?"

Raj winced. "Dude, next time you invite me to one of your groundbreaking physics experiments, just leave me out of it, okay?"

"Yeah, well, next time you accept one of those invitations don't bring an ex-girlfriend along where a current girlfriend can meet her," Howard snapped back. "It's bad luck to bring significant others into labs, everybody knows that."

Sheldon scoffed. "Howard, that's the rankest superstition. And I should think the example of your own wife would disprove it."

"Oh no no no no, when Bernie's in her _own_ lab, she's fine. If _I_ came into her workplace, well, let me just say this is the woman who almost weaponized Ebola by mixing it with the common cold. If I'd been there the day that happened, we'd all be trying to schedule our own funerals against one another."

"We have to get out of here," said Leonard. "Somehow. Oh, God, I wish we were back in our apartment. Howard, any chance you could pick that lock?"

Howard sighed. "Maybe, but what's the point? There's only gonna be more FBI goons outside. Maybe if we all agree not to tell them anything else . . . ."

"We need a coordinate change," said Sheldon, staring into space. "If we could simply access the information overlays of the space-time reference frame determining our location and momentum, then perhaps we could rewrite that data. Which would effortlessly allow translation between one space-time point and another. Or, alternately, we could redefine the structure of space-time to create an arbitrarily short contiguity between defined loci. Yes, that might be more efficient." He nodded, got up and went to the wall, staring at it, his eyes focused far beyond it. Leonard, Raj, and Howard gaped at him.

Then, without fanfare or flourish, he knelt, ran his finger up the wall, to the right in a straight line over his head, back down to the floor and across to his starting point.

The wall vanished. Through the doorway-sized gap, the yellow safety ribbons blocking off the elevator of 2311 Los Robles gleamed, the elevator doors themselves as dusty and dull as always. Sheldon nodded in satisfaction. "There." He strode through the gap in the wall into the fourth-floor hallway, standing perfectly halfway between 4A and 4B. After a second, he turned around and looked back at them quizzically. "Well, I'd recommend you join me, so I can reset the contiguity. Not much point in leaving if we only show them where we are immediately, correct?"

"Dude, if somebody throws an alien in my face I think I'm gonna crap my pants," croaked Raj.

Leonard had no idea what Raj was talking about, and could barely grasp what had just happened. But he was positive he didn't want to wait until someone else decided he could see Penny, and he was equally positive he would never get the chance if he just went passively along with Agent Page's agenda. Refusing to let himself think about it, or to let visions of slamming face-first into a wall take over his brain, he forced himself forward and stepped through the gap. It felt exactly like walking through any other doorway, and then he was in the hallway at 2311 Los Robles, outside his door as if he'd just come up the stairs.

From this side the doorway appeared to be in the wall, a slightly wavery rectangular gap opening onto the boardroom. Howard and Raj were on the other side, gawping through at them; after a moment, Howard took off one of his shoes and tossed it through. It landed on the floor beside Leonard with a thump. Sheldon stared at it and gave Howard an exasperated look. "Are you expecting that to come out of the ceiling with pink goop all over it?"

Howard rolled his eyes. "Okay, fine, I'm sorry! Just had to check." He ducked through the portal with a hunching, twisting movement, as if terrified to let any part of him touch the edges. Raj did the same thing, gaping around the hallway as if expecting to wake up. Sheldon huffed in disgust, bent down and ran his fingers along the edges of the portal again, using both hands this time. The instant his fingertips met at the top of the portal, the hallway wall was back, looking as if nothing had ever happened to it.

"We should get something to eat," Sheldon said thoughtfully. "Even with IV nutrients our blood sugar will be low. I have several high-glucose cereals that should do the trick. You're welcome to share, gentlemen, as long as you commit to replacing what you eat." He dug through his pockets, looked alarmed, and then annoyed. "Oh, frickety-frack, I don't believe it."

"What? What is it?" asked Leonard.

"We forgot to get our keys back from the FBI." Sheldon stared at the door in frustration. "Well, this is a fine how-d'ye-do. How are we supposed to get into our apartment now?"

Leonard stared at him, eyebrows raised. After a moment Sheldon started and slapped his forehead. "Oh, good Lord, of course. Sorry, sorry." He bent to touch the base of the apartment door, then frowned at Leonard. "Did you know the lenses in your glasses are missing?"

Leonard turned to Raj and Howard, flabbergasted. Raj shrugged. "At least we know it's still him," he pointed out. "Nobody else could gain superpowers and still be this annoying."

2:47 P.M.

Penny dreamed of flying.

It had been a favourite dream of hers, when she'd been a little girl growing up on a farm outside Omaha. She found herself standing in a wide green field, the mountains of the Nebraska high country rearing up on the horizon, lone windmills piercing the flatness here and there. Cold wind blew her hair back from her face, and she leaned into it, then began running. She could never identify the moment when she left the ground, but she always did, and then the sky was hers. She would hurtle across the sky like an arrow, swoop and barrel-roll, shrieking with laughter, sending the birds scattering. Sometimes she would find herself plummeting in a headlong dive until the ground came terrifyingly close, and then she would pull up in a fierce arc that cannoned her back up into the sky. Sometimes, she would fail to pull up in time; she hated that, because she never remembered the impact, only the sickening jolt of coming awake with her heart pounding and her lungs sore. But for the most part, the flying dreams were nothing but unadulterated joy. And here at last, after years and years, the dream had come back to her. Penny spread her arms and blazed a contrail across the sky, the world rolling away far beneath her.

She hadn't had one for years. If asked, she would have barely been able to remember it. But the feeling of it had never left her: she remembered that weightless, joyful, soaring sensation whenever any moment of pure, sheer happiness came over her. The moment she'd first ridden a horse. The first applause she'd gotten as part of a school play. The first time she'd had really good sex, and realized just what the whole process was actually about. The moment she'd opened her door and seen Leonard, bearded and hirsute, back from the North Pole, and realized just how badly she'd missed him and why. Her agent, calling her to tell her she'd got that first professional commercial. Leonard again, turning what had felt like the most obvious decision of her life into something magical and romantic after all, when he'd produced that ring and knelt down. And once more, driving in that car to Vegas, about to turn that magic into reality.

Until he'd told her what he'd done.

The bottom dropped out of her stomach with sickening force. Penny opened her eyes just in time to realize she was falling. A second later she slammed onto the hospital bed with an impact that knocked the wind out of her. She blinked up at the ceiling, struggling to get her breath back. A shrill beeping was sounding beside her; she looked over at a tower of medical screens and equipment, several of which were flashing, and realized that several medical sensor sticky-pads had been torn off her body. Her hand hurt; blood was trailing from the back of it. A stand with an IV bag hanging off it had been knocked to the floor. Penny looked around dazedly. What the hell had happened? She remembered looking through that observation window, seeing Leonard, and then . . . nothing.

The door slammed open. Two large, broad-shouldered men in dark suits burst in, reaching inside their jackets, but stopped when they saw her pushing herself upright. One went back outside, lifting his wrist to his mouth and muttering into whatever mike was hidden there. The other came over and put a companionable hand on her shoulder. "Morning, miss," he said, with a friendly smile. "How are we feeling today?"

Penny shoved the hand off her shoulder with what she would have recognized, if she'd been paying attention, to be startling ease. But she wasn't. She didn't like strange men touching her when she wasn't in the mood for it, especially not when all she was wearing was a hospital johnny that didn't close properly in the back. "I'm fine," she snapped. "Where am I? Where's my fiancé? My friends?"

The suited man's smile fell off, as if it had never been more than a mask. "You're at Huntington Memorial Hospital, Miss Carmichaels," he said. "We're in the middle of an investigation into the incident that occurred at JPL. You and your friends are under observation, to make sure you haven't experienced any ill effects. If you wouldn't mind just resting in bed here until a doctor can see you—"

"Actually I would mind," Penny interrupted. _Incident? Ill effects?_ "I can tell you right now, I feel fine, and I just want to get out of here. Where are my clothes?" The man didn't answer, but his eyes flicked in brief reflex to the room's closet. Penny nodded, rolled out of the bed, clutched her johnny closed behind her to hide as much as she could and went to it. With a glare she waved the man away. "Hey, look, buddy, do you _mind?_ "

The suited man glowered at her one more second, then turned away and folded his arms. Penny huffed. As quickly as she could she got into the clothes somebody had put in the closet; they were all hers—oh, crap, had somebody been in her apartment?!—but the orange top and green jeans didn't match at all, which annoyed her even further. At least they'd brought running shoes rather than heels. She turned back to the suited man. "Okay, pal, either I talk to someone in charge or I'm leaving. What's it gonna be?"

Before the suited man could answer, his colleague opened the door and leaned back in, his expression the wide-eyed blankness of someone trying very hard to hide worry. "Jim? We need to get up to the east wing on the third floor. Winters is resisting."

 _Winters?_ Kurt's last name was Winters. That he'd fight people who, more and more, reminded Penny of cops of some kind didn't surprise her; that he was here in the same hospital? And what the hell was _she_ doing in the hospital? Why had she had an IV? And why had they hooked up all those sensor-thingies? What was going on here?

The suited man, Jim, nodded. "Okay, let me secure things here." As the other man disappeared back out the door, Jim turned to her. "Miss Carmichaels, for your own safety I'm going to lock you in. Are we clear? Good." Before she could respond he had backed out and pulled the door closed. The click of a lock cut through the silent room. Penny stared at the door.

"Oh you arrogant son of a _bitch_ ," she said, more in disbelief than anger, and tried the knob. It wouldn't move. She rattled it harder, and it still wouldn't turn. A sudden fury burst through her. She grabbed the knob and wrenched as hard as she could. The entire assembly cracked in half and tore out of the door, leaving a ragged half-circle hole behind.

For a moment Penny stood, gaping, the ruined doorknob still in her hand. Then she dropped it with a horrified yelp. "Oh my God," she breathed, hands to her face, "oh my God, holy crap, holy crap, holy crap on a cracker . . . ." She shook her head, hard, and pulled herself together. There would be time to figure this stuff out later. She was sure only of two things: she wanted to find her friends, and she wanted _out_ of here. She wormed her fingers into the exposed lock workings, tripped the latch by feel and pulled the door open. Cautiously, she peeked out into the hall.

The corridor looked like any hospital hallway, and smelt of much the same blend of disinfectant, rubber, metal and plastic. Two chairs sat to either side of her door, a can of Coke on the floor beside one. Down to the left, she could see the edge of what looked like an admissions desk, with the corridor continuing beyond it; to the right, the corridor went down a few more doors—each of them had two chairs on either side as well—and ended at a window through which a beam of sunlight shone. Muffled announcements came over the P.A. Penny glanced back and forth again. No way out except past that desk—or was there? She looked towards the window once more, and grinned. Over the last doorway, closed like every other door in this part of the corridor, a fire-exit warning sign shone.

Wait. Closed—like every other door? Penny didn't visit hospitals much, but the few times she had, most patient rooms were always open, whether occupied or not. People liked to feel connected, especially when afraid. Penny glanced once more towards the admissions desk, then ducked out of her room and walked calmly down to the next door. She remembered this from the _Mission Impossible_ movies Leonard had made her watch with him (and that she'd actually rather enjoyed, not that she'd admit that): Acting like you had a perfect right to be where you were was the first and biggest step in going unnoticed.

She peered into the room through the window in the door. Another bed, with another array of medical equipment and an IV, but she couldn't see who was in it. She looked quickly back down the hall, then put her hand on the knob, gripped it tight, and exerted pressure, keeping herself as still as possible while ratcheting up the force bit by bit. For several long seconds, nothing gave. Then something burst within the lock with a sharp snap and the knob turned over. Penny caught herself, opened the door and slipped inside.

The woman in the bed was Bernadette. Penny held in a shout with one hand and hurried to her side, shaking her gently. "Bernadette!" she hissed. "Bernadette, can you hear me?" She shook harder. " _Bernie!_ " she tried.

" . . . Howie . . . ?" Bernadette mumbled. Her eyelids fluttered. Penny cast a nervous glance at the medical monitors, which had changed the rhythm of their beeping as Bernadette roused; it looked like mostly the same stuff that had been next to her bed, except for—

She clapped her hands to her mouth again, eyes wide. Normally none of the stuff she saw in hospitals meant anything to her except as vague reminders of her occasional _Grey's Anatomy_ binges. But one screen in the stack beside Bernadette, one black-on-grey-on-black blobby image, she recognized immediately—heck, more than one childhood friend back in Nebraska had proudly showed off such images, even before showing off the ring that was theoretically supposed to precede them. It was an ultrasound. And in the centre of the image, something tiny moved, swimming in and out of visibility.

"Holy shit!" she squeaked. She grabbed Bernadette's shoulders again, grinning foolishly, this time shaking her out of sheer inability to hold still. "Holy shit, Bernadette, you're _pregnant!_ You're gonna be a _mom!_ I'm gonna be an aunt! Oh my God, best day ever!"

"God, Penny, I know, okay?" Bernadette rasped. Her face scrunched up as she fought her way back to consciousness. "I've known for about six weeks, but can you not go shouting it everywhere? I don't want Howard to—" Her eyes shot open, and she jackknifed upright, suddenly alert and horrified. "Oh my God, Howie! I told him just before he got the doors open back at the lab—Penny, what _happened?_ Where the hell are we?" She put her hands to her stomach, looking sick. "Does everything look . . . you know, okay down there?"

Penny shrugged. "How the hell should I know? Nothing's going _eeeeeeeee_ and flashing red lights; far as I'm concerned that's an all-clear." She began ripping the sensor pads off Bernadette, ignoring the smaller girl's squawks of pain. "We're at Huntington Memorial, a whole bunch of people in suits are being all Men-in-Blackish about things, and apparently there was some kind of incident back at the lab, that's all I know. Come on, let's find Amy and get out of here."

Bernadette detached her IV with a grimace and swung out of bed. Penny found her clothes in the closet and tossed them to her; as she dressed, Penny couldn't help but notice there was already a slight thickening at Bernadette's waist. Knowing Howard he would probably have cracked a few one-liners about gaining weight, patiently endured a night on the couch and forgotten it. At the doorway, Bernadette frowned at the broken doorknob. "How'd this happen?"

"Show you in a second." Penny took her to the next room, which was also locked, stood Bernadette to block any sightlines from farther up, and broke the lock with a single sharp twist. "Vitamins in the IV, I guess, right?"

Bernadette shook her head, dazed, as they slipped inside the room. "Penny, you know this is not normal, in any way, right?" she whispered. "None of this?"

"We can worry about normal later, Bernadette." Penny pulled back the curtain around the bed to reveal Amy, her face looking softer and more vulnerable without her glasses. Penny realized something with a start. "And as far as normal goes, you realize you aren't wearing your glasses, right?"

Bernadette jumped, touched her face, then held her hand out at a distance and stared at it, wiggling her fingers. She moved it back and forth before her eyes, squinting, then gaped at Penny. "Okay, I've worn glasses since I was nine. As my husband might say: What the frak?!"

Amy proved slower to rouse than Bernadette had. Penny bit her lip, glanced at the clock over the door and decided to maximize resources. "Bernadette, can you get Amy up and moving? I'm gonna check next door to see if Emily or Lucy are there. I think we're pushing our luck for time."

Bernadette frowned as she vigorously chafed Amy's wrists. "You sure you wanna bother? I don't think Emily would bother looking for you."

Penny hesitated. It was tempting. But a deep feeling of wrongness twisted in her stomach. "Yeah," she said at last. "Yeah, I'd better. I want to be able to look myself in the face tomorrow." She got Amy's clothes and put them on the bed. "Be back as soon as I can." Her nerves got the better of her; she wasn't able to keep up the calm walk this time, and found herself almost sliding along the wall to the last room in the hallway. She almost tripped over one of the last two chairs as a result, caught herself, and reached carefully for the knob.

A small, pale hand on the end of a black-jacketed sleeve shot through the door, as if it was nothing but a hologram of light or a cloud of backlit fog. Penny jumped back with a shriek she was completely unable to repress. The hand jerked back through the door, vanishing completely. A second later it reappeared, fumbled around, and then found the knob on the outside. Gripping awkwardly, the hand wrenched at the knob, harder and harder—Penny saw the knuckles turning white—but couldn't move it. With a feeling of unreality, she saw the nails were torn and bitten to the quick.

From above, there came a sudden flurry of shouts; crashes and bangs, as if furniture was being thrown around; then a series of sharp reports, which Penny recognized instantly. She rolled her eyes. "Ah, crap," she muttered. "Okay, screw this." She grabbed the hand by its wrist and yanked hard.

With a yowl of fright and confusion Lucy came completely through the door and fell to the ground, her eyes wide. She closed her eyes and gave a full-body shudder, almost a spasm, and rolled onto her back, staring at the ceiling. "Oh, God," she mumbled. "I feel like somebody just strained me like soup."

Penny nodded. "I've had mornings like that. Feel like getting out of here?"

"Ah, yes please." Lucy reached up; Penny grabbed her hand—and stumbled back as her hand went straight through Lucy's, which had gone translucent. Lucy gulped, then stared hard at her hand with narrowed eyes. After a moment it went opaque again. Lucy scrambled to her feet with an apologetic look. "Sorry. I woke up when I fell through the bed in there; I'm still not a hundred percent okay at turning this on and off."

Penny frowned. "Why didn't you just walk through the door?"

Lucy shrugged. "I was scared it'd flake out on me halfway through. Figured doing one arm at a time was a little safer." She lifted her eyebrows. "Uh—I don't suppose anything weird happened to you?"

Penny looked around, picked up one of the chairs, grabbed it by its back and one leg, and tore it apart with one quick yank. Lucy jumped back. "Whoa. Okay, plus, not alone. Minus, now even more scared of you than I was."

"Yeah, well, I get the feeling there'll be more to be scared of before long." Penny pointed at the ceiling, where the crashing and the gunshots were getting louder and closer. "You seen Emily?"

"Speaking of things to be scared of," Lucy muttered. "No. I was alone in there."

Penny sighed. "Okay, let's go collect the others." They went back to Amy's room, where Bernadette had just finished getting Amy dressed. She looked considerably groggier than the rest of them had, and unlike Bernadette, she was wearing her glasses, and gave no appearance of discomfort. Had whatever happened to the rest of them just not worked for her? Or was something else going on? Penny smiled and squeezed Amy's shoulder. "Hey, bestie. What's shakin'?"

"The contents of my stomach, I think," Amy husked. "I guess it's your turn to carry me. Hope you didn't take any complaints I might have made about your size personally."

"Well, you can buy me a few drinks later to make it up to me," said Penny dryly. She'd carry Amy over her shoulders if she had to. "Okay, Bernie, Lucy, you guys support Amy; you're good friends helping another friend under the weather, and we're just walking out of an ordinary hospital on an ordinary day like we have a perfect right to. Right?"

The girls exchanged looks, then tried to smile. All three expressions were uniformly wide and unconvincing. Penny sighed and rubbed her forehead. "Maybe we just concentrate on walking, how about that?" She opened Amy's door and stepped out into the corridor; Lucy and Bernadette followed, helping Amy stagger along. Then Penny stopped.

At the far end of the corridor, where it debouched into the admissions desk area, five men in suits waited for them, two on their knees in front and three behind, all of them with pistols levelled straight at the four women. Though the guns were held in firm and steady grips—the sign of someone who knew what they were doing—the men's eyes were wide, and their foreheads shone with sweat. Penny slowly lifted her hands into the air. She had never had a gun aimed at her, but she knew about shooting, and she knew when someone was more than ready to use a weapon in their hands.

"Ladies," snapped the man in the centre, "I'm gonna have to ask you to return to your rooms, now. It's very dangerous out here and that's by far the safest place for you." Behind her, she heard Bernadette make a tiny whimpering squawk, something that might have been, _Oh God._ Strangely, the sound of her friend's terror stilled her own. All Penny felt was an intense concentration. This might be the greatest sales job of her life.

"Look, guys," she began—she had to swallow, but managed to keep her voice fairly steady. "We, uh, we just wanna go home. If you've got a problem with that, hey, I'm open to talking about it. But the guns," she attempted a laugh that sounded more than a little strained, "well, they make it kinda hard to chill, you know?" She was rewarded by flickering glances from side to side; indecision? Looking for reassurance? "Now unless you do have a problem—" she swallowed again "—I'm thinking we're just gonna back up this way . . . ." She suited action to words, taking one very slow step backwards. Then, when they didn't move, another. " . . . and we're gonna go out this fire escape door—"

Metal split open behind her with a rending _crunch_. Bernadette screamed; there came the sound of bodies hitting the floor with a thump. Penny spun just in time to see the fire escape door being ripped open from the other side by a pair of big hands, Bernadette and Amy huddled in one corner, and Lucy falling straight _through_ the floor with a look of shock on her face before she disappeared. And then gunfire filled the world with a roar of thunder. Half a dozen slugs slammed into Penny's back, knocking her over and down like full-body punches; she gave a breathless yell and hit the floor. Chest, stomach and back all ached. Sheer shock kept her from grasping what had happened for a second. What little emotion filtered through that shock was more indignation than anything else. _Holy crap,_ she found herself thinking, _why'd you guys do that? You just ruined one of my best tops!_

The gunfire died. Penny rolled over, gasping, wondering why it wasn't hurting more. Maybe she was in shock. Then the rest of the door ripped away, and a tall figure stepped into the corridor from the fire escape stairwell, carrying a jagged two-foot shard of metal in his hand clearly torn from the remains of the door. He stopped beside Penny and smiled down at her.

It was Kurt. He wore only a hospital johnny, and it was pockmarked and torn in multiple locations, like it had been run through a thresher . . . or through a hail of gunfire. His smile gleamed with a madness utterly beyond his old bad temper. Penny shrank back from it. "Hey, hon," he said cheerfully, and waggled the metal shard at her. "Looks like you woke up a brand new person. Just like me."

Penny stared up at him, breathing hard. The ache was dying away, fear growing in its place. Surely the pain would start any second now? But Kurt only bent down, picked something up from the floor, and tossed it to her. In sheer reflex she caught it, then goggled at it. It looked like a fairly standard 9mm slug, but its nose was crushed flat like it had been shot into a foot-thick hardened steel backstop. What the hell could this thing have hit that would—?

 _Oh._

Penny looked down at herself. There were no exit wounds in her front. Her back felt completely dry. She stretched her hand behind herself as much as she could, and found a couple of the holes in her top; beneath them, unbroken skin met her fingertips, and a momentary twinge like a days-old fading bruise. Then even the twinge was gone.

"Oh, holy crap on a cracker," she breathed.

"And then some," Kurt agreed. "Hey—I'm gonna go have me some fun with some government flunkies. You feel like joining in, come on along. You don't . . . I'll see you later." His grin looked like a shark's. Without further warning he turned and ran straight at the suited men, who broke and ran as fast as they could, but not fast enough to outrun Kurt—his legs seemed to blur at superhuman speed, and he hit them like a bowling ball hitting pins, knocking them over with a crash. Cries and yells of pain split the air.

The noise galvanized Penny; she sprang to her feet, grabbed Bernadette with one arm and Amy with the other, threw them over her shoulders one to each—it took about as much effort as lifting child-sized straw scarecrows—and twisted sideways into the fire escape stairwell. She heard the girls grunting with the bouncing impacts as she ran down the stairs; from both of them, the breathless noises sounded dangerously close to sobs. _Oh, God, I hope I'm not hurting Bernadette's baby!_ Down one floor, then another, then down a corridor following the large white arrows marked EXIT, and she burst through a door into a parking lot, staggering out across the tarmac.

The parking lot was filled to the brim with police cars, ambulances, and out by the street, a few fire trucks. A row of cruisers were arranged in a semi-circle around the exit, with next to no space to dodge between them. Along that arc of vehicles, uniformed blue police officers levelled their guns. Penny stopped, letting Bernadette and Amy down slowly, staring at the cops.

"Oh, boy, that's a lot of police," Bernadette squeaked.

Amy snorted. An odd smirk came over her face. "Wow. And my mother kept telling me I'd never land a man if I went into neurobiology. Didn't Bonnie Parker get marriage proposals in the press all the time?"

Penny moistened her lips, not really listening as one of the cops bellowed orders at her through a bullhorn. She might not have anything to fear from bullets now—or did she? Were there limits to what she could withstand?—but she doubted Bernadette or Amy would be so lucky. If she tried to fight or run she'd only get her friends killed. And for Bernadette there were more lives on the line than just her own. Maybe they should surrender. Maybe that would be better.

Or maybe . . . .

Out of nowhere, she remembered her dream. Remembered the way she'd woken up, less than forty minutes ago. Remembered the feeling. And that ludicrous, joyful glee came over her again, with no explanation at all. She tightened her arms around Amy's and Bernadette's waists.

"Guys?" she said. "Hold on."

"Hold on?" said Amy. From Bernadette: "Penny, wait, what are you—?"

They got nothing else out before Penny crouched down and leapt skyward. And gravity vanished as she rocketed upwards in a blast of displaced air, Bernadette and Amy tucked under her arms, arcing up and into the sky. Within seconds the parking lot, the police and the hospital had shrunk and disappeared into the cityscape of Pasadena, over a thousand feet below. Cold wind blasted through Penny's hair; she lifted her voice in a scream of joy, almost drowning out Bernadette's and Amy's screams of terror.

 _What do you know,_ she thought, grinning giddily as they hurtled through the sky. _Come to California, and your dreams do come true after all._


	3. Chapter 3

THE METAHUMAN TRANSFIGURATION

 **Description:** The gang gets superpowers. It's not as cool as some of them always thought. Alternate Season 9 premiere.

 **Notes:** I'd like to thank all those who have kindly provided reviews and encouragement; being a total newcomer to , I'm not familiar yet with all the ways users can communicate with each other here, so I apologize if I have appeared unresponsive. I'm glad that others are enjoying this nutbar ride and plan to continue as quickly as I can.

 **Disclaimer:** The author does not own THE BIG BANG THEORY or any of the characters.

\- 3 -

HUNTINGTON MEMORIAL HOSPITAL

THURSDAY, AUGUST 27, 2015, 2:55 P.M.

Kurt Winters was standing at a window he'd smashed open, holding an FBI agent out of it with one hand, when he saw the three figures blast off skyward from the hospital parking lot like a kid's rocket; he had just enough time to see that one of them was Penny, and his jaw dropped. "Whoah," he breathed, and grinned at the guy he was holding up by his neck. "Now come on, dude, you have to admit, _that_ was cool, right?"

The guy didn't do anything but kick and flail feebly, gurgling through his reddening face; his blows at Kurt's arms felt like being whipped with cold spaghetti. Kurt snorted in disdain and dropped him, wishing he was a little higher up than the second floor. If Penny had woken up with the same tricks he'd discovered, the strength and the invulnerability, shouldn't he be able to fly too? He grinned to himself; he'd always thought Superman was a wussy character. It would be totally fucking awesome to show the world how to do it right.

" _Mr. Winters! On your knees, hands on your head, now!_ "

Kurt sighed. Didn't these assholes ever learn? He turned, and blinked. "Whoa." The guys at the end of the corridor were new: they wore full-body riot armour, and one of them was hoisting what looked like an honest-to-God rocket launcher over his shoulder. A moment's rational thought forced its way through the hot red glee: just because bullets didn't seem able to hurt him any more didn't mean _something_ couldn't. But he didn't much like the notion of surrendering, either. He really didn't see why he should have to, after today. Ever.

He held up his hands, backing towards the window, grinning. "Okay, dudes, you win. Let's skip the property damage. Catch you later, okay?" He stepped up backwards onto the windowsill, then spun and flung himself skyward.

The strength in his jump catapulted him over eighty feet into the air and nearly a hundred yards down the street, at which point his arc levelled out and curved down, his stomach shot up into his throat and a vague memory of playing _Angry Birds_ on his phone came back to him. Flailing, Kurt plunged back towards the earth, feeling distinctly disgruntled.

"Ah, shi—" he began. Then he crashed through the roof of a house and the lights went out.

HOFSTADTER-COOPER RESIDENCE – 2311 LOS ROBLES AVENUE, #4A

3:16 P.M.

Whether it was TV, newspapers or the Internet, the only news for the past forty-eight hours had been the Power Pulse, as some reporter or other had evidently dubbed it. Leonard, Raj, Sheldon and Howard watched as the news shows recycled both the satellite footage they'd already seen of the shockwave their experiment had set off, and a smorgasbord of jerky, poorly-focused phone videos and GoPro shots, all of which showed people doing impossible things. At least three people were caught flying; one of those videos had turned unexpectedly tragic when its subject hadn't judged his speed correctly and broken his neck crashing through a billboard. One man was laughing hysterically and holding his hands up, with green lightning crackling between his palms. A little girl was juggling her building blocks in the air without touching them. Five women, all with the same face and body, talked to the camera in eerie unison before suddenly collapsing back into one person. Leonard could only sit and blink, not quite able to grasp the scope of what was happening.

Raj had begun writing down the abilities as each one came up. A new video came on, and Raj elbowed Howard. "Dude, look, there it is—super-strength." On the screen, a balding, muscled man in a red T-shirt grinned maniacally as he used one hand to lift the end of his pickup truck off the ground. Higher and higher he lifted the vehicle until his hand was over his head, and he stood practically underneath it.

Leonard raised an eyebrow. "Great, it's Larry the Cable Super-Guy."

Howard looked disquieted. "Oh boy. That's not the right way to apply lift, buddy, don't just hold it by the bumper, _don't_ —" The man couldn't have heard Howard's warning, but it was too late anyway; the bumper broke off, and the truck came smashing down, its front right tire landing right on the man's foot. He fell like a house of cards and lay screaming on the ground before the TV cut back to the newscaster. Howard rubbed his forehead. "God, don't these people grasp elementary mechanics?"

"Well, now, be fair, Howard," said Sheldon from his spot. "Many people of quite advanced mental resources have more important things to think about than engineering. I'm sure that fellow was desperately trying to remember which part of the crick he'd stashed his six-pack in."

Leonard glared at Sheldon. "You know, for a man who's probably just won the Nobel Prize, once they get all this straightened out, you could be a little kinder to the guys who helped set the experiment up."

"I could," Sheldon acknowledged. "I'm not entirely sure Nobel Prizes should be our highest priority right at the moment, though."

Raj, Leonard, and Howard snapped around to gape at him. Sheldon rolled his eyes and explained. "We have to go rescue our womenfolk from the gub'mint, don't we? I'm not about to let the dang _federales_ keep Amy under lock and key."

Raj frowned. "Have I ever mentioned how freaky it is when you go all East Texas, dude? Seriously, it, like, raises my hackles. Cut it out."

"Agreed," said Howard, "but annoying as this is to say, Dr. Dimension here has a point. Bernadette's still in that hospital, and we have to get her out." He grinned abruptly. "And would it be wrong if we took just a minute to geek out about how utterly cool all this is? I always wanted to live in a world with real life superheroes, and I always wanted to be one."

Sheldon scowled. "All right, first of all, 'Dr. Dimension' is _far_ too close to the Canadian children's television series _Dr. Dimensionpants_. Whatever name I take it'll have to be something else. Secondly, Howard, we have absolutely no evidence that you personally have gained any such abilities—it's clear that the people manifesting that effect are far from a majority of those exposed to the wave. Thirdly, Leonard, now that one of us has in fact gained superpowers," Sheldon stood and brushed off his pants, "I think once we get the girls back it'll be time to review the sidekick clause of the Roommate Agreement." He went to the kitchen and got a bottle of water from the fridge.

Howard and Raj stared at Leonard in disbelief. Leonard could only shrug. "He's right, there's a sidekick clause. But I am not putting 'Boy' anything in my alias!" he added over his shoulder to Sheldon.

"Dude, you cannot possibly be _his_ sidekick," Raj insisted. "When Robin the Boy Wonder whacks Batman over the head, it makes all of us look bad."

Howard frowned. "All of us? You haven't gotten powers either, any more than Leonard or me."

"And don't think I can't tell that that's just eating you up inside," said Raj smugly, folding his arms. Then he frowned. "Actually—that _is_ a really ugly feeling, dude. It's like this little twisting coil of black electricity right behind your solar plexus. Come on, you really think Bernadette will start thinking Sheldon's cooler than you just because he can twist the structure of space and time?"

Howard's mouth fell open. Silence filled the room. A moment later, Raj slowly took on an equally poleaxed look. "Dude—Howard—I don't know why I said that. I mean—"

"Interesting," said Sheldon, arching an eyebrow. "Raj, I'm thinking of a number between one and the cosmological constant. Do you have any idea what it is?"

Raj stared at him. "No." A second later, he frowned. "But—" He touched his temple with one hand. "Is that what it feels like in your head, when you're really focused on something? That's . . . wow. Kind of awesome."

"What _does_ it feel like?" asked Leonard, fascinated despite himself.

Raj moved his hands, struggling for words. "It's like . . . being a convex lens, except alive, and able to feel it. Taking light from all frequencies and directions and feeling it pass through you, gathering it into one searing point, one nexus of total concentration, which feels both freezing cold and burning hot at the same time." He looked at Sheldon, almost awestruck. "Dude, what the hell are you actually thinking about?"

"The number 1.35213," said Sheldon blankly. "Why, what did you think I was thinking about?"

"Whoa! And now you're puzzled, and that felt just like getting hit with a mist of tepid water." Raj turned, eyes wide, to look at Leonard. "And you, oh God, dude, you've _seriously_ got to get over your self-doubt, 'cause it feels like somebody's turning your intestines over with a butter churn. Aah!" He jerked as if struck. "Leonard, did you know that when you're shocked it is literally like a slap upside my head?"

Howard clapped his hands together and pasted an artificially bright smile on his face. "Okay. Raj is an empath. Congratulations, buddy, you can finally tell when a girl's actually interested in you or not. I see a bright future as Dr. Phil's assistant on national TV! And now that's settled, could we maybe get back to figuring out how to _get our ladies back?!_ "

Leonard pushed his hair back with both hands, forcing something like calm onto his racing thoughts. "Howard's right, guys, we've got to find the girls. Sheldon, can you put us back inside that hospital?"

Sheldon cupped his chin in one hand, frowning. "Well, I remember the coordinates to open a contiguity back to the boardroom. But to do it anywhere else I'd need a map of the building, so I could calculate a proper and safe location for the exit."

Leonard held up one hand. "Whoa whoa—'safe'? What's the risky part about this?"

"Oh, for _us_ , nothing. However, Leonard, I don't know about you but I don't want to risk opening a contiguity in a hallway somebody might be walking through. That's reckless negligence. There's California law about that." Sheldon shook his head decisively. "No, far better to put it on a wall in some unused storage closet someplace. I just need to know where one is. Howard, think you can look the plans up online?"

Howard glared at him. Raj winced. "Ow, dude, calm down. You're like a barbecue on my face."

"Ho, boy, _that's_ not gonna get old real fast," Howard muttered. He went to Leonard's computer and booted up as the others gathered around him to watch. "Ai-yai-yai. Two of my best friends get superpowers and I'm the computer nerd flunky. It's kindergarten playtime all over again."

"What are you complaining about, you're not the one who signed the sidekick clause," Leonard grumbled. "Try the Pasadena Land Use office, for Huntington Memorial."

"Go teach your granny to suck eggs, Leonard, I've been doing this since I was ten." Howard frowned at the keyboard. "You're running slow, man, when was the last time you defragged this thing?" He looked thoughtful. "You know, there ought to be a way to expedite functionality on these circuits . . . ."

"Howard! Focus!" Sheldon slapped Howard on the back of the head. "Solve computer problems on your own time, we're in rescue mode."

"You know," said Howard through gritted teeth, "my _wife_ and my _unborn child_ are back there too. Amy isn't even your girlfriend right now; you do remember that, right?"

Sheldon stared at him. "You don't seriously think I've forgotten it, do you?" he said after a moment. "Howard, I play that last conversation I had with her in my head every day. Well, my brain plays it for me, I haven't yet negotiated a settlement about it, but anyways." He waved his hand. "I have no idea whether I'll be able to successfully effect a reconciliation with Amy, who I might remind you is one of only three women in this entire world to whom I've _ever_ said 'I love you', but it is certainly true that I'll never be able to do so if she spends the rest of her life in government custody. So don't make the mistake of thinking I don't take this just as seriously as you do, Howard. Because I do."

A long moment of silence stretched out. Howard lowered his eyes. "Yeah, okay," he mumbled. "I guess I get that. Sorry, man." He turned back to Leonard's laptop and began typing again.

Sheldon nodded. "And if it turns out we can't effect a reconciliation," he said, "then I'd just as much rather she spend the rest of her life regretting what she let go while I mock her mercilessly with it every day. Ho broke my heart, man," he added, in response to their looks.

Raj grimaced at Sheldon as if watching something extremely peculiar and nasty crawl out from under a rock. "Dude, I don't know where your mother had you tested, but you seriously need a recheck." Then he frowned. "That's weird. Did any of you guys just have a really happy flashback?"

Leonard, Sheldon and Howard exchanged glances, and Leonard shook his head. "Don't think so. Why?"

"'Cause I've got this really bright sparkly vibe in my head, right here." Raj tapped the top of his head with one finger. "It's tiny, but it feels like . . . it feels like it's _moving_. Like, really fast." His eyes widened. "And—getting closer. Oh! I think she just found something she was looking for!"

"She?!" chorused Leonard, Howard and Sheldon together.

Raj bounced on the balls of his feet, grinning. "Yes, yes! She just spotted something she really wanted, and now she's going for it, at top speed, she's—" His grin vanished. "Uh-oh. She's trying to hit the brakes really fast, and I don't think she's—"

From overhead came a series of thumps and a rumbling crash, rolling across the ceiling.

"—going to make it," Raj finished, subdued.

"The roof!" Leonard shouted. He sprinted for the door, threw it open and ran up the stairs, Howard and Raj only a step behind. They passed the fifth floor and hurtled upstairs to the roof's access door, where Leonard shoved it open, ran outside and almost barrelled straight into Sheldon. " _Gyaaahhh!_ Sheldon, what the hell?!"

Sheldon nodded. "Experiment #1 in direct personal teleportation, successful," he said. "So far this day has not disappointed." He turned, and then the smirk fell off his face; his eyes widened. "Oh dear."

" _Bernie!_ " Howard shouted. He ran across the roof to the corner, where Penny was untangling herself from Amy and Bernadette. In a diagonal line across the roof ran a series of smashed, cracked dents in the concrete floor, like the splashes of a stone skipped off a lake. Penny was in an orange top and green jeans that had both been badly torn up, but—Leonard's heart nearly burst with relief—she herself seemed uninjured. He was only a second behind Howard, and caught Penny in a nearly strangling embrace.

"Oh my God, I thought I was going to lose you," he sobbed.

Penny burst into tears. "Oh, God, you had to start crying didn't you? Leonard, what the hell is happening to us?"

"I don't know, I think—I think maybe we just both of us need to let go and trust each other more; I've got to stop sabotaging things with my self-doubt, and—"

" _Leonard!_ " Penny pulled back indignantly. "I mean what's happened to _me!_ What happened at that lab, how I can do the things I can do now! What the hell is going on?!"

"Oh. Uh, I thought—never mind, we can discuss that later. When you say, do the things you can do, what exactly—" Leonard's eyes fell on the dents in the roof. He thought about Raj's words, and about the noises he'd heard, and the way Penny's clothes were damaged. Realized that she wore nothing like a parachute, and there was no helicopter anywhere in the sky. He felt like he'd been smacked in the face again.

"Penny?" he said, raising his eyebrows. "Do you have something to show me?"

Penny opened her mouth, then gave him an almost painful smile, spread her arms, and closed her eyes. Her feet left the concrete. Inch by inch, she floated up into the air, until she was hovering about three feet above the roof. She opened her eyes, and only nodded at Leonard's slack-jawed gape. "So, whatcha think?" she said, voice achingly wry. "Should I go with the classic blue leotard with red trim, or the white with a boob window?"

Then she suddenly looked alarmed. She hadn't stopped rising. "Uh, Leonard—help? Um, how do I stop this? Uh, stop! Down! Retract! De-elevate!" She began to flail about, drifting sideways. Leonard leapt after her, grabbed one foot and managed to pull her back down to the roof; when her foot was within six inches of the floor the upwards pull suddenly vanished, and Penny plopped to the ground with a gasp of relief. "Okay, some more practice needed there," she said.

"Guys?" Howard's voice cracked in mid-yell, almost a shriek. Together, Leonard and Penny raced over to where he sat, cradling Bernadette in his arms; Amy was clinging to Sheldon, who had knelt down, staring with an open mouth as if for once in his life he had absolutely no idea what to do or say. Penny gasped at the sight of Bernadette; the smaller woman was badly injured, from bruises and scrapes all over to a visibly broken arm and leg and, worst of all, a sodden dark patch of blood on the side of her head. Bloodstains were spreading on Howard's shirt and trousers. He looked up, eyes wet. "Guys, this is—this is really bad. I think she might lose the baby if we can't get her to a doctor, or something . . . ."

"Oh, shit," Penny whispered, hand to her mouth. "I knew I screwed up the landing, but I never thought—oh, God, Bernadette, I'm so sorry." She began crying again, dropping to her knees beside them. As if in response, Bernadette's eyes fluttered open. She reached up with one hand.

"Penny," she whispered. Her breathing hitched. "It's okay. I'm gonna be fine." But her eyes were rolling back, defocusing. "I think—"

She spasmed, eyes bulging, and jackknifed upright in Howard's arms, coughing out a spray of blood—but a second later the cough turned clear. Colour flooded her face. She twisted, writhing, and gave a low cry than scaled upwards into a shriek more of surprise than agony; she held her broken arm up in front of her, staring at it as if it no longer belonged to her . . . and it seemed, for just a moment, that it didn't: the splintered bone-ends pulled themselves in, flesh crawling back over them, like a living animal burrowing into safety. Her shin straightened by itself, with audible crunching noises of bone snapping back into place. The bruises and scrapes on her face faded before Leonard's stunned gaze like ink washing away under water. The bloody patch didn't vanish from her hair, but something shifted subtly underneath it, and Leonard realized with horror that Bernadette's skull had actually been broken. He considered telling Howard that and decided not to.

Bernadette slowly brought her hands up in front of her face. They trembled, but Leonard was sure it was not from any physical pain, not now. Penny stared with wide eyes. Raj stumbled back and sat down, breath hitching with relief. Howard stared at his wife with something somewhere between awe, joy, and shock. "Bernadette?" he whispered. "Are—are you okay?"

"Yeah," said Bernadette. "Yeah, I think so. The baby's fine, too. I . . . I can feel it." A slow, stunned smile spread over her face. "I can _feel_ it. I can feel my heartbeat. My nervous system. Oh, God, it's like I can feel every nerve all through my skin!" She got her feet under herself and staggered upright, leaning on Howard for support. "Howie, I can feel my own gut flora! It's like this tiny little Mongol horde doing a cavalry parade by my brain—it's _amazing!_ Oh!" She grinned down at her own stomach. "Oh, I wish I could stick an endoscope in there right now and watch you guys, you little dickenses!"

Leonard blinked at her, then looked to Sheldon, who raised his eyebrows meaningfully. "Who should go back and get retested now, huh?" he insisted.

HUNTINGTON MEMORIAL HOSPITAL

3:42 P.M.

Lucy had discovered the hard way that she couldn't actually breathe when she was inside something solid, although she could see out through whatever she hid inside—it was like looking through a hologram, or a half-completed dissolve shot on TV. She crouched down inside the concrete wall, watching a group of riot-armoured SWAT cops running by, feeling her heart pound in her skull and her chest ache. It wasn't a matter of holding her breath; she could move her diaphragm all she wanted, it simply pulled nothing into her lungs. Spots were bursting in her eyes by the time the cops had gone far enough down the hall that she felt she could risk emerging.

She pushed herself out into the empty air of the basement corridor and heaved in a gasp, letting herself slide down against the wall. She'd also discovered she couldn't just stick her face out like a diver in water, either; if her ribcage was even partially within solid matter her lungs simply wouldn't work. Finally, she'd figured out that the more frightened she got, the more likely the power was to turn on by itself, sometimes so strongly she couldn't even stay planted on a floor—that was how she'd wound up down here. When she'd seen Penny's ex Kurt ripping his way through the metal fire-escape door like it was made of wallpaper, all her instinctive terror had simply surged in a freezing blast like an Arctic geyser, so strong there was nothing left but the overwhelming urge to disappear. The next thing she knew, she'd fallen through something like four or five separate stories, finally catching herself here on a sub-level basement, too far below ground to get back up again without using a staircase or an elevator that wasn't already in use by someone.

 _Oh, God,_ she thought, and put her face in her hands. _I hate my life. I hate being afraid._ Tears welled in her eyes. Her fear of people had killed her incipient relationship with Raj, and squelched any attempt to get back together with him by driving her into a lie about seeing someone; then, when he'd made it clear he would only see her again if he could see some other girl at the same time, that same sick dread had touched off a spurt of pride and anger that only hid the nauseating certainty it wouldn't even have been worth trying. How could she compete with someone so confident that she was willing to risk competition in the first place?

And then, out of nowhere, Raj had e-mailed her and invited her out, purely as a friend, he'd said; _no pressure_ , he had been very clear to state in his message. _But you told me once you were interested in unusual, one-of-a-kind events, and I thought it would be nice to see you again, as a friend, an old acquaintance or whatever you like._ He hadn't mentioned Emily at all, and she'd dared to hope that maybe they'd broken up, but hadn't felt much surprise to learn they hadn't. These sorts of things didn't usually work out for her. She'd learned that the hard way, too.

The light seemed to be growing incredibly bright against her eyelids. She squeezed them shut tighter, pressing her heels against her hands, but the pressure only seemed to warp her vision further; it felt as if the world was reversing itself on her, gone inverted black-and-white, like an X-ray negative. When more footsteps echoed dimly down the corridor, growing nearer, she couldn't even bring herself to push back into the wall again. Let them find her. She was tired. She sighed and looked up, smiling sadly, and watched as a slender woman and an immensely tall, broad-shouldered dark-skinned man (her hair and his skin looked white in her vision) walked quickly down the corridor towards her.

" . . . hadn't knocked himself out with that crazy-ass flying attempt, we might have lost men permanently," the woman was saying. "They've got him on IV sedation on the top level, too drugged out to think, let alone move."

"How'd they get the needle in? Thought this guy was bulletproof." The man's voice matched his size, a resonant basso profundo.

"Don't know," said the woman. "All we know is, when he was unconscious, the needle went in. We haven't found Armbruster yet, either." Lucy tensed: _Ambruster_ —that was her! "If she's capable of going through solid matter she's probably long gone."

That made Lucy smile. With a sigh, she stood up and spread her arms, stepping into the woman's path. The woman and her colleague kept walking, as if she hadn't noticed Lucy at all, but from the way her attention was focused on her tablet, that seemed quite plausible. "Kripke, Bloom and Winkle are cooperating," the woman went on, "but Sweeney still hasn't shown any sign of coming out of her coma or recovering from her injuries—she's the last one from the original site. She's up with Winters in the top-floor secure ICUs." The woman walked straight up to Lucy—

—and through her as if she didn't exist, never glancing up. Lucy spun, gaping in amazement, her body turning straight through the big guy with the deep voice as he followed the woman. There was no way they couldn't have seen her! Was there?

. . . _oh, wow._ Lucy closed her eyes, breathed deeply, steadied herself. When she opened her eyes again the world had returned to normal full colour. She looked at her own hands, opaque and reliable, the nails bitten down to the raw. Then, the woman and the man still walking away without having noticed her, she held them up in front of her face and concentrated. The world gradually bled back into the weird black-white negative colour scheme she'd thought was just stress-borne hallucination . . . and before her eyes her hands faded away, vanishing completely.

 _So I can sidestep light itself, not just solid matter._ She'd read a few SF stories after meeting Raj, though she'd never dared tell him; if her retinas were transparent to visible light, they must be picking up something outside the visible spectrum, maybe UV or X-rays. That must be why things looked so weird. It would take some getting used to, but it would suffice to let her find her way out of here, now that she didn't have to hold her breath to avoid getting caught. She hurried after the man and the woman, paused as they passed a staircase, and glanced upwards. A sign and arrow pointed helpfully towards the exit.

Then she sighed, and followed the man and woman down the hall. If she had the chance to learn something, maybe she should. She hated not knowing what was going on.

She wasn't in time to beat the closing door of the room they entered, but that didn't matter: one held breath and she was through it. The room had evidently been commandeered as some kind of command centre; banks of laptops had been set up on tables, and a projection screen showed a map of Pasadena up front. Men and women in suits moved back and forth, conversing on phones and checking tablets. Lucy walked through them like a ghost. For the first time she was beginning to enjoy this. She could see everything—albeit fine detail was hard to make out—and nobody could see or touch her. At all.

The woman went to the front of the room, beside the projection screen, and raised her voice. "Okay, everyone, attention please?" The hubbub died down as the others turned to her. "As you know, we have eight Primaries still missing: we've verified to our satisfaction that they are just not anywhere in the hospital, so we're going to be commandeering local law enforcement to search. I want you all to familiarize yourself with these names and faces.

"Our missing Primaries are: Dr. Leonard Leakey Hofstadter." Lucy repressed a gasp as Leonard's face came up on the screen. "Dr. Sheldon Lee Cooper." Then Sheldon's. "Dr. Rajesh Ramayan Koothrappali. Mr. Howard Joel Wolowitz. Miss Penelope Victoria Carmichaels. Dr. Bernadette Marianne Rostenkowski-Wolowitz. Dr. Amy Farrah Fowler. And Miss Lucy Ann Armbruster." Each face came up in turn; Lucy grimaced at the sight of her own, which looked like it had been taken from her passport. "You'll have images and bios sent to your phones. Our advantage is that all of them have strong pre-existing relationships, so if you find one it's extremely likely you'll find a good many of them, maybe all of them. We can confirm that Carmichaels and Armbruster have definitely manifested as metahumans, and we suspect at least one of the men has; it's the only way they could have disappeared from their last known location. Other manifestations are unknown, so all subjects are to be treated with extreme caution, and encouraged to surrender and cooperate whenever possible. Deadly force is to be used _only_ in the last defense of your life or innocents' lives. Are we clear?"

Nobody else in the room was close enough to see what Lucy saw next, but she had squeezed in beside the woman—AGENT A. PAGE, her badge read—hoping to read her tablet. The effort was wasted; the weird light-reversal of her invisibility made it unreadable without getting a much closer and longer look. But she'd looked up at that last sentence, and caught the big, dark-skinned guy shoot a relieved look at Page. Quite distinctly, he mouthed, _Thank you._ Page nodded back with a faint smile.

Lucy raised her eyebrows. This guy must know one of them—and from his worried, protective look, it was almost certainly one of the girls. She snuck a look at his badge: DR. G. FOXWORTH, it said—probably not Penny, then, and Amy didn't seem like the type to inspire such sentiment. Maybe, if Bernadette knew about this, she could use it somehow. But the people in the room were gathering coats and briefcases; they clearly weren't going to discuss anything else now. She took a deep breath, held it, and walked straight through bodies, tables, computers, chairs, and the door until she was outside the room. There, she willed her body back into solidity and broke into a run, racing down the hall to the stairs and up.

She paused when she got to the hospital's first floor, looking around. The bustle here seemed like business as normal, if you didn't look closely enough to notice the people in suits and radio earpieces standing at key intersections watching everything with hawk's eyes. By now, she had got the hang of maintaining her invisibility while shifting herself in and out of solidity as needed, and the ease with which she'd gone completely unnoticed had gradually sparked an almost forgotten feeling: confidence—and curiosity. Maybe she should see what else she could find. Maybe even see if anybody else wanted to get out of here.

 _Like Emily?_ came the rather pointed thought. Lucy flushed. She'd tried to help Raj get the other girl out of the lab mostly in panic and instinct; it was a great deal more difficult to contemplate deliberately going back into this place for the sake of somebody who, quite frankly, scared the crap out of her, and of whom she could hardly be said to have an unbiased opinion. And if Emily was as badly injured as Page had described, better she stayed anyway for her own sake. But on the other hand, Penny had helped Lucy as best she could, despite their differences. Besides, if she wanted any hope of rebuilding any kind of friendship, or anything else, with Raj, having to admit that she'd left his current girlfriend behind without at least checking on her probably wouldn't go over so well.

None of that was what really mattered, though. What mattered was that moment in the basement, when she'd been about to give up, and finally realized just how truly sick and tired she was of being scared.

She sighed, and headed for the elevators.

3:58 P.M.

The elevator doors rolled open at the top floor. Two suited FBI agents immediately turned to face into it; their expressions on seeing nobody inside would have been funny if Lucy had enjoyed that kind of thing. As it was, her stomach was in too many knots to laugh at anything. She ghosted through them, squinting in the weird black-light of her vision, and hurried down the hall as quietly as she could. Oddly, even at full insubstantiality her feet still left prints and made sounds—probably a side effect of whatever kept her from falling through floors, which was useful but meant even now she still had to be careful.

This level had been completely commandeered. There were suited agents everywhere, and she could instantly tell the normal hospital staff from the people the government had brought in: the Huntington doctors and nurses wore blue scrubs, talked to each other in low voices and looked nervously at the ones in green scrubs, while the green-scurbbed newcomers ignored them and exchanged information with brute military efficiency. Lucy followed two of the green-scrubbed doctors down a hall until they came to a heavy door with two riot-armoured cops outside.

"Anything?" asked one of the doctors.

The taller cop shook his helmeted head. "No. Trust me, ever since we heard about Winters, we've been checking every ten minutes. She hasn't moved. You changing the IV again?"

"I hope not," said the other doctor. "Last time we checked her hemoglobin finally looked like it was stabilizing, but that was after sucking up practically a unit an hour. Whatever's happening to her, it's a whole other ball game." She looked at the door as if dreading having to go back in. Lucy swallowed. This didn't sound good.

She ghosted through the door. The interior of the room only solidified her conviction: Emily wasn't going anywhere. All around the bed where she lay stretched out, pale, limp and unmoving, towered a wall of screens, monitors and devices bleeping to each other in slow, cold tones. Multiple lines ran into and out of her arms, connecting to IV bags and more machines. The room smelt of antiseptics, blood, and a faint stink something like—Lucy sniffed, frowning—burning. The air felt chilly.

She let herself solidify, shifting back to visibility so she could see more clearly, and immediately wished she hadn't. Even in the dim light of the room's drawn curtains, Emily looked dreadful. Dark shadows discoloured her eyes, her lips looked almost blue, and her breathing had a dry, sandpapery sound to it that made the hair on Lucy's neck stand up. She moved closer, despite herself, and found herself reaching out to touch the other girl's arm. Her skin was cold.

"I'm sorry," Lucy whispered suddenly, without intending to. "I know about having issues. Whatever yours are, I didn't mean to make them worse. I should have stayed home. Well, I mean, I guess we all should have, in hindsight, but . . . ." She hesitated. "You probably saved a whole bunch of people's lives, back there, when you got that door open. That took guts. I don't think I could have done that. In fact I know I couldn't have done that.

"Raj told me you liked being scared," she added after another pause. "I'd envy that, except I can't even imagine what that would be like. I wish I could help you, somehow. But the best I can do is go, I guess. I'll tell Raj you're here, that you need him. Maybe he can do something. And . . . I won't see him again. I owe you that much.

"Goodbye, Emily."

She drew in a breath and stood up.

Something icy cold and bone-crushingly strong seized Lucy's wrist, yanked her down almost into the bed. Emily's head jerked sideways and her eyes flashed open, a cold, brilliant, amber light shining in their depthless brown irises. Her lips drew back in a snarl. But Lucy barely noticed. The grip on her wrist was nothing compared to the grip on her mind, a freezing, iron-hard grasp that penetrated every thought, made it impossible to blink, to breathe, to think, almost even to be afraid. The ghost-state was utterly beyond her. All she could see was Emily's eyes, and the rage and agony blasting from them.

And then the snarl warped into something that might, conceivably, have been a smile.

"Goodbye, Lucy," Emily whispered.


	4. Chapter 4

THE METAHUMAN TRANSFIGURATION

 **Description:** The gang gets superpowers. It's not as cool as some of them always thought. Alternate Season 9 premiere.

 **Notes:** As before, where details like the characters' middle names or the actual name and address of Sheldon's East Texas childhood home have not been established, I have made up names for the sake of the story; these names are not official and should not be expected to recur in any other BBT story.

 **Disclaimer:** The author does not own THE BIG BANG THEORY or any of the characters.

\- 4 –

HUNTINGTON MEMORIAL HOSPITAL

THURSDAY, AUGUST 27, 2015, 4:01 P.M.

Lucy didn't know what would have happened if the door hadn't burst open at that exact moment, but she never wanted to find out. Neither girl had noticed all the medical devices going off in a cascade of alarms. The loud boom of the door crashing open, as the armoured cops and the doctors poured in, made both Lucy's and Emily's heads snap sideways in sheer reflex; the instant the gaze that connected them broke, Emily's mental grip broke as well, shattering the paralysis. The ghost-state hit Lucy in a tidal wave of terror, so strong that she dropped through the floor as if it didn't exist, her wrist passing out of Emily's clenched fist like fog.

An instant later, she caught herself and flipped back into solidity, just in time to drop to hands and knees in the middle of the hallway below. An orderly cried out in shock and leapt back, plastering himself against the wall. For a moment he and Lucy just stared at each other. Then he grabbed a walkie-talkie on his belt with shaking hands and shouted, "Security! We've got one of the Primaries, on the seventh floor! Securi—" He was cut off by the dim sound of gunfire from above, and then agonized shrieks. He stared up at the ceiling dumbly, and then again at Lucy.

Lucy shrugged. "I think Security's going to have more important stuff to worry about for a little while," she said to the orderly. "And I have to tell you, if I were you I'd be seriously thinking about career changes right now. Gotta plan for the future, you know? Which would include, like, being alive to have one. 'Bye." She waved at him, grinned sheepishly, and closed her eyes just as she saw more suited men running towards her. Could she do this again? Trigger the ghost-state with just the right timing, just, like, _that_ —

The floor vanished from under her; her stomach flipped over; she resolidified and landed on hands and knees again in another corridor. _Sixth floor_ , she reminded herself. More startled yells, more calls for help: she ignored them both. _Again._ Ghost, drop; solid, land. Fifth floor. _Again_. Ghost, drop, land; fourth floor. Ghost, drop, land—and she fell with a thump right onto a blue-masked doctor in the middle of an operating room, knocking him over and away from the patient on the table, whose condition Lucy couldn't tell for certain but who was definitely showing off parts of one's insides never meant to be visible. Over the yells of outrage and fright, she scrambled to her feet, blurted "Sorry!" at the doctors and nurses, hurled herself at the room's exit and staggered out into the hall. That was it. She was finding an elevator and doing this the easy way. Signs on the wall told her which way to go; she followed them—

-and ran right into the woman she'd seen downstairs, the agent in charge of everything here, Page. They goggled at one another for a moment before Page snagged her wrist, spun her around and slammed her into the wall, holding her against it with her body weight. "Lucy Armbruster!" she shouted, digging with one hand for something—cuffs, Taser, a gun? "You are hereby under arrest for—"

Lucy called up the ghost-state with everything she had.

She and Page fell through the floor together, all the way through the second floor elevator vestibule, and into the first floor's vestibule before the impact knocked them both apart, rolling over the floor. A crowd of suited agents, cops and green-scrubbed doctors whirled to stare at them all. Head spinning, Lucy fumbled for her last shreds of control, and found it just as Page sprang upright and flung herself at her. She ghosted out completely, vanishing from sight. Page staggered through her, spun around and cast wildly left and right, while Lucy sprinted down the hallway towards the main doors. "Stop her!" she bellowed. "That was Armbruster! She's going for the door! Stop her!"

The agents at the door tried their best, arms out, as if they could bar the way of someone they could neither see nor touch. Heart pounding, Lucy ran straight through them, straight through the doors beyond, down the curved driveway beyond and out into the street and the sunlight.

It was like running into a wall of fire. Her eyes exploded in agony, instantly blind. She screamed, reeling backwards, and before she knew it had lurched back into reality, falling to her butt on the sidewalk. The pain was gone and she could see again, but as she looked back all she saw was more agents pounding down the driveway after her. They had heavy squarish black pistols in their hands; Lucy recognized them from her _Guns & Ammo_ magazines—Tasers. Gasping for breath, Lucy staggered to her feet. Her legs trembled; her lungs burned. With a slow pulse of despair, she realized she'd never be able to outrun these guys. Even in the ghost-state, if she couldn't vanish they'd just dog her until her strength ran out and she collapsed. That was it. There was nothing she could do—

A rumbling roar came from down the street. Lucy glanced to one side. A municipal garbage truck was approaching. And suddenly a last-ditch idea came to mind. If this didn't work, she was dead. But if she just gave up, she had a terrible suspicion her next destination was just like Kurt Winters': Sedated in a nameless room where nobody would ever see her again. Anything was preferable to that. Anything.

The agents were almost within firing range for the Taser darts. Lucy gulped. And then, just as the leader swung up his pistol and took aim, she stepped backwards into the street, straight into the path of the oncoming garbage truck, squeezed her eyes shut, and ghosted.

The impact of the truck felt like a body slam from a mattress. The world disappeared around her. Lucy reached out blindly and _pulled_ herself up into the truck, swimming against the solid matter of the chassis and engine block until she broke out into a dark space and fell onto a soft, wet, squishy pile of stuff she didn't want to think about. The stench almost made her vomit, but she held her nose shut and breathed as shallowly as she could. If the driver had noticed her, he'd clearly ignored it once he felt no impact. She would probably only have a few minutes until they coordinated cars to go after the truck, but at the speed it was going, that would give her enough time to get a decent distance away and ghost herself out through the side. On foot, she could find her own way home—

 _No,_ she suddenly thought. _Not home._ They had her address, they would only go there. And if Raj and his friends had also escaped, Lucy was pretty sure there was only one place they could be. The FBI probably knew exactly where that was, as well . . . but Penny would be there, as would the others. Maybe that would make a difference. Maybe all of them together would be too strong to stop.

 _Together._ Strangely, even alone in the stinking dark, that word made her smile.

HOFSTADTER-COOPER RESIDENCE – 2311 LOS ROBLES AVENUE, #4A

4:07 P.M.

In the armchair, with a blanket wrapped around her, Amy huddled over the mug of tea Sheldon had made for her, caught somewhere between gratitude, dread, nausea and frustration. She still didn't feel much better; her skin was crawling as if her nerves had all turned into sandpaper, and her head throbbed dully. She sipped the tea in tiny, infrequent gulps, not willing to test her stomach further. Throwing up was the last thing she needed.

Unfortunately, the second last thing she needed was the argument currently underway in her ex-boyfriend's home.

"I still don't get this!" Raj cried, storming back and forth. "Fifteen minutes ago you were all gung-ho to go back and take on Mr. Man, now you're all perfectly happy to sit and let Lucy and Emily both rot?!"

"Lucy can walk through walls, Raj," said Penny impatiently. "I think she's going to be fine."

Howard nodded. "Yeah, and no offense, Raj, but—wait." He twisted to face Penny. "Lucy can walk through _walls?_ Whoa." He grinned. "Wonder how the hell _that_ works."

Raj glared at him. "I'm glad to see you share my concern."

Howard rolled his eyes. "Look, buddy, I hate to say this, but concern for _who_? The ex who broke your heart by being more damaged than any of us, or the woman who _would_ have been an ex months ago if you'd had the jubblies to go through with it? I was willing to take on the government when it meant getting my wife and child back. I'm sorry. This just doesn't come up to that priority level." He went to Bernadette and put his arm around her shoulder. Bernadette laid her head on his and took his hand.

Raj's jaw tightened. "So that's it, huh, _buddy?_ You've got your significant others, screw me and mine? Well, the hell with you. The hell with all of you. I'm out of here." He stormed to the front door, opened it, strode through and slammed it behind him—and the slam echoed simultaneously from the corridor leading to the bedrooms. Raj stormed back into the living room and stopped dead, goggling. Everybody stared back at him. Then realization struck him. "Sheldon!"

Sheldon nodded in satisfaction. "Experiment #1 in remotely creating a closed spacelike curve, successful. Boy, I'm on _fire_ today." He suddenly looked disquieted. "Although I really hope that's not literal for anybody here. I haven't practiced our emergency evac routines in a while."

Raj stomped up to Sheldon and glared into his face. "Sheldon, I swear, if you don't let me out of this apartment we're going to see if you can teleport fast enough to dodge a punch."

Sheldon lifted his hands placatingly. "Raj, I am simply trying to make sure you don't repeat your foolish pattern of making decisions while emotionally overwrought. Because I think you have to acknowledge that they tend to be incredibly stupid." He folded his arms and looked smug.

It was the smug look, Amy thought later, that must have been the trigger. Raj drew back a fist, opened his mouth—probably to shout something like _You son of a bitch_ , although knowing Rajesh it was as likely to be something like _You unholy offcasting of Vishnu's bowels!_ —but the fist never even landed before something else struck Amy like a smack in the face from a padded club on fire: blazing, furious rage, searing and blistering. The impact rocked her back in the armchair so hard that she dropped her tea, and only dimly felt herself sliding out of the chair onto the floor. For an eternally long, agonizing half a second that anger thundered through her brain like hot lava. Then it spun in on itself with nauseating speed and became a freezing, saltwater blast of fear and confusion; a second later, it vanished.

Amy blinked herself back to awareness, finding herself lying on her side on the floor. Only Raj was still standing upright in the apartment, and the appalled, aghast look on his face was wrenching. Leonard lay on his back by the door, blinking dazedly up at the ceiling, his glasses askew; Penny was on her knees beside him, arms clutched over her head like a child hiding from bullies. Howard and Bernadette lay sprawled on the couch as if Raj had physically smashed them both back onto it, gasping for breath. But it was Sheldon who looked the worst. On the floor beside her, he sat on his butt, legs outstretched, pale as a ghost, staring up at Raj, holding his head with both hands as if keeping it from flying apart . . . and the look of terror on his face was that of a five-year-old confronting a nightmare. Tears were spilling down his cheeks.

As part of her neurobiology work Amy had once read the results of a little-known study in transcranial magnetic stimulation. Subjects had been instructed to contemplate various emotionally potent images and concepts while having various parts of their brains stimulated; the study itself had been inconclusive, as a lot of neuroscience tended to be, but one part of it had always stayed with Amy. A very few of the subjects—all informed volunteers—had undergone stimulation while viewing real-life police images of abused children. None of them had any such abuse in their background, but under the right level of stimulus, all had suddenly reacted as if they did, with the same level of emotional breakdown; some had even needed counselling, afterwards. Amy suspected that was part of the reason why similar study proposals were so seldom approved nowadays. And those subjects' reactions were exactly what Sheldon was showing now.

Her heart broke. All her own anger and frustration was forgotten. She reached out to touch Sheldon's shoulder—and the instant she did, something else flashed through her, a _zing_ like a static shock but strangely pleasant. It took her a moment to realize all her symptoms had gone, instantly; she felt as well as she ever had. But that wasn't important. Sheldon had whipped around to face her, staring as if he didn't know who she was.

"Sheldon?" she whispered. "Sheldon, are you—?"

Sheldon cried out, a wordless yelp of panic and misery, and scrambled to his feet. "You . . . _stay away_ from me!" he shouted, voice cracking. "You hurt me! You're all out to hurt me, I knew it, I always did! Leave me alone, all of you! _Leave me alone!_ " He swiped his hand across the air, and seemed to tear it open; the ragged hole that yawned before him seared Amy's nerves like a knife-wound, showing what looked like a living room full of old but comfortable furniture. Sobbing, Sheldon plunged through it, stood on the other side with his shoulders shaking for a moment, then spun back and yanked the edges of the rip closed like the curtains of a window. The rip sealed up; a long, distorted blur seemed to hover in the air behind it like a translucent scar on space itself, before gradually blurring out and vanishing. Amy watched it disappear, feeling like someone had driven a spike through her chest.

"Oh, shit," breathed Raj. He looked around at everyone else. "Oh, shit, oh—" Abruptly he stopped, closed his eyes and pushed his hands down, as if physically closing a lid. "No," he said firmly, "no, no. Enough of that." He looked at Howard with the air of someone determined to face a firing squad. "Howard. My friend. I swear to Vishnu that I never meant to hurt you. Any of you. I—" He swallowed, and looked around at them. "I will leave, if you want me to."

In the long silence that followed, Amy could see Rajesh's control visibly crumble, as he watched his friends exchange frightened, uncertain looks. He slumped, and turned to the door. When he opened it the space beyond was only the ordinary hallway. He stopped on the threshold, then took a breath.

"Raj, no, wait." Bernadette jumped up, ran to his side and grabbed his arm. "It's okay. You didn't mean it, we can tell. Don't go. Stay with us. Please."

Raj stared at her. "Do . . . do you mean it?"

Bernadette breathed deep as if bracing herself for something, but didn't look away. "You can tell if I mean it," she said, and gave him a meaningful look.

Raj gazed back at her. His shoulders slumped again, but this time, Amy knew, in relief. He pressed his lips together until they stopped trembling. "Please don't make me cry," he said, in a choked voice. "Because I think we all know now that if I start crying, _everybody's_ going to start crying." He managed a smile. Bernadette reached up and drew him down into an embrace, hugging his shoulders tightly.

Leonard elbowed Penny lightly in the side. "See? Not just me."

Penny snorted. "Yeah, but you didn't have malfunctioning superpowers as an excuse." She held up her forefinger, a sudden look of bright mischief in her eyes. "Hey—betcha I know what that was, I've read some of your comics. That was, uh, 'projective empathy,' right? Raj can transmit what he's feeling to the people around him?"

Leonard grinned in surprised delight. "That's _exactly_ right." He cupped her face with one hand. "Oh my God, you sound so hot when you talk geek."

Penny returned the grin. "Well, what the hell, it might become professional knowledge now, right?" She directed an intent scowl at Raj. "But listen, buddy, I've only got one thing to say to you: Do _not_ have sex anywhere near me until you get this under control, you got it?"

Raj nodded, looking sheepish. "Uh, believe me, that's pretty far down on both the priority and the likelihood scales, right now." He sighed and let Bernadette go, then went to the couch, where Howard was still massaging his face as if trying to wake up. "Listen, dude, if you want to deck me in the face for that, feel free."

"For what?" Howard groused. "Brain-blasting me, or getting a hug from my wife that was practically a full-body feel-copping?"

"Howie!" Bernadette slapped his arm.

Howard sighed. "Okay, okay, fine." He stood and clapped his hand to Raj's shoulder. "No, buddy, I am not going to deck you in the face. Partly because if I actually did hit you now I'd feel it just as badly as you did."

Raj nodded thoughtfully. "That's true, I suppose."

"Yeah," said Bernadette. "Plus, Howie, the last time you tried to kill a fly around the house you threw your shoulder out. So maybe another reason to forgive and forget."

"Amy? You okay?" Penny came across to where Amy sat on the floor and held out a hand. On sheer reflex, Amy took it and found herself yanked to her feet with shocking force; her shoes actually left the floor for a second before she dropped back down. Penny backed up with a yelp and a grimace of contrition. "Oh, god. Sorry, Ames. I keep forgetting." She frowned. "You know—you do look a whole lot better than you did. Did something happen to you? Did you just, you know, whoosh—" she spun her hands around each other "—get better, like Bernadette?"

"Uh, the typical term is enhanced physical regeneration," offered Leonard.

Penny waved at him impatiently. "I said I read _some_ of your comics, Leonard, I didn't bother reading _all_ of them. Seriously, Amy, what gives?"

"Well, Sheldon's gone," said Howard. "I know that typically makes _me_ feel better."

"Yeah, I just wish I wasn't so worried." Leonard looked at the spot where Sheldon had disappeared. "That didn't look anything like what he did the other times. Call me crazy, but when someone with the power to twist space and time has a breakdown, I get unnerved. Where did he go?"

"I think I know," said Amy. She cleared his throat. "I've seen photographs of it before. It looked like the living room of his mother's house."

"Oh, God, in Texas?" Leonard rubbed his forehead. "Why the hell is it always Texas? How are we going to get him back?"

"Do we _want_ to get him back?" said Howard.

"If we want to be able to get in and out of Huntington Memorial with Emily and Lucy, yeah, we do," said Leonard. "Unless Raj and Penny feel like fighting their way in and Bernadette's okay with walking through bullets."

Raj shook his head. "No, no, I am definitely not up for hitting anybody else with that kind of thing right now. I'm not even sure I'd be able to get into the right mood, you know? Have to be _feeling_ it." He did an odd move that seemed half Bollywood, half yoga.

Howard stared at him, seemed about to say something, then visibly changed his mind. "Allow me to present a third option, then," he said to Leonard. "We don't worry about trying to get _either_ Sheldon _or_ Lucy or Emily back, and instead we decide what to do about the government agents probably on their way to find us very soon. My first recommendation would be to boogie, stat. Penny, any chance you can get us all out of here the way you, Bernie and Amy came in?"

Penny folded her arms with a frown. "I don't have enough arms to carry everybody, Howard. I got turned into Supergirl, not Octopus Girl."

Amy cleared her throat again. She wasn't at all sure about this, but the memory of watching Sheldon tear open that hole in space was still vivid in her brain, like a burn scar. "Actually . . . I think we might have another way to go for option one."

Leonard frowned. "How do you mean?"

Amy held up her hand, then closed her eyes. In her mind, she could still see that hole. As she concentrated on it, she could almost sense the flow of numbers around its edges, the coordinates that Sheldon must be able to see and manipulate consciously. The maths of it made no sense to her, but the _patterns_ . . . those she could see, those she understood—like the neural maps of an MRI, or the delicate folds of brain tissue under a microscope. She smoothed out the edges, adjusted the height and shape into symmetric stability, then triggered the connection, feeling it snap into place like a neurotransmitter to a receptor membrane. She opened her eyes.

The portal to Mrs. Cooper's living room hung open before them, a man-high oval gap in the air. Leonard, Howard, and Raj all stared, jaws slack.

"Oh my God," breathed Penny. She clapped her hands in delight. "Oh my God, Amy, that's amazing! How'd you do that? Can you whoosh around too?"

Amy shrugged, feeling drained and oddly disappointed. For all the real wonder in Penny's eyes, she had to admit to herself that she would rather not have lucked into this particular ability. She wasn't even sure she had, yet—whatever savant-like gift Sheldon had for seeming to _know_ exactly how to shape space-time, she felt nothing like it. But there wasn't time to go into that sort of thing now. "I don't know, Penny. But Howard's right, we're probably short on time. Let's go." Then she hesitated. "Um—maybe you should all go first. If I go first, it might close behind me. I'm not 100% sure how this works."

"Fair enough," said Leonard. He squared his shoulders, stepped through, looked around, and poked his head back in. "All clear. Come on."

One by one, they did.

632 SECOND STREET, EVERHOLT, EAST TEXAS

4:29 P.M. PACIFIC TIME / 6:29 P.M. CENTRAL TIME

Amy was the last to step through; much to her relief, the portal stayed open by itself. She wondered if she should close it and then decided not to. The house was quiet, but warm, and felt friendly. She felt torn between the urge to explore this vital part of Sheldon's past and the discomfort of feeling like the trespasser she knew she was.

Penny evidently felt no such qualms. "I've never been to Sheldon's mom's place before," she said, wandering around the living room. She picked up a photo from the side table. "Oh, my God, Sheldon was a cute kid, wasn't he?" She frowned. "Why isn't he smiling, though?" Then she picked up another picture, and grimaced. "Never mind. Question answered."

Leonard nodded. "It's terrifying, isn't it?" He looked around. "I don't hear anything. If his mom was here we'd probably still be hearing the shouting match." Suddenly a curious look crossed his face. "Wait a minute. Raj . . . any chance _you_ can tell if he's still here?"

"Oh." Raj looked surprised. "Well, um . . . okay, let me see." He closed his eyes, lifted his hand, then one by one began pointing to the others. "Okay, Leonard, you're there, Amy's there, Penny, Howard, Bernadette . . . oh. Agh." He grimaced. "Yeah, he's here. Oh, God, that feels terrible—like cold vinegar all over pieces of broken glass. He's . . . ." He rotated, his arm coming up to point at the ceiling. "Somewhere up there. Probably his old bedroom."

Leonard's jaw tightened. He turned to face the others. "Okay. Look—he's gonna need to talk to someone he knows, someone he's positive would absolutely never hurt him. Someone he's sure will understand him enough to know what he's going through." He hesitated, then looked at Penny. "All right, sweetheart, you're up."

"Me?!" Penny pointed to herself, outraged. "Why me?"

"Natural mothering instincts? He trusts you?"

"No way, uh-uh. You're his best friend. This is _your_ job."

Leonard sighed. "Yeah, I know. Dammit." He went down the hall and began to climb the stairs. "Natural mothering instincts, my ass," he muttered.

"Hey, hon?" Penny called after him. "Before you get too cranky where I can hear you, remember I can punch holes in concrete now."

"And I love you for that. So much!" Leonard disappeared upstairs.

Amy sighed and sat down on the couch. "Wow," she said. "This has been one heck of a day so far, hasn't it. Sorry, guys."

"What are you apologizing for?" Raj frowned, sitting down beside her. "I'm the one who lost his temper and scared Sheldon into running here."

"Yes, but I'm the one who broke up with him—even if it was just meant to be temporary. Come on, guys, it's pretty clear that he was in a far more fragile state from that than anybody thought."

Penny put up a reproving finger. "Oh no, no way, I am not going to listen to you blame yourself for that man's problems, Amy. Yeah, maybe you hurt him, but you know what? He hurt _you_. He could stand to think a little more about how ignoring other people's feelings tends to bite you in the ass."

Amy bit her lip. "He doesn't mean to, Penny. Sheldon knows people have feelings, and he tries to take them into account; he really does. It's just . . . he's never grasped _why_ people feel so differently from him, most of the time, and if things don't make sense to him he, well, he tends to kind of write them off."

Penny sighed. "Yeah, I know. Look, Amy, a few months ago Sheldon told me something a lot like what you did: he said he wished he could read people's minds, and that he wished he understood people like I did. And I know he tries, believe me. But Sheldon's problem is—well, actually, it's kind of a problem Leonard has too, sort of. All the guys, in fact . . . even you a little, Ames." She sat down in an armchair, looking Amy straight in the eye. "You want to know what it is?"

Amy frowned. "Yes, please."

Penny leant forward. "All of you are so smart—learning comes so easy to all of you—that the one thing you're not so good at is _sticking_ to learning when it's _difficult_ —when it's _not_ fun, when it's _not_ interesting. You get spoiled. There's nothing I know about people that Sheldon couldn't learn, but because people don't _interest_ him enough to make it easy, he assumes that if it doesn't make sense to him right away, it doesn't make sense at all and it's not worth wasting time on unless someone makes him. Which is why you had to do all the work in that relationship." She slumped back in her chair, lifting her hands. "I love Sheldon, Ames, but I could never be his girlfriend. I haven't got that kind of stamina. I was always amazed that you did." She shook her head in a definite motion. "Nobody should have to do that much work in a relationship."

"Seems like Leonard puts an amazing amount of work into _your_ relationship," observed Bernadette.

Penny looked abruptly uncomfortable. "Yeah, well . . . he gets sex out of it. That makes up for a lot."

"It's true, it does," Raj admitted.

Howard rolled his eyes and made an elaborate production out of a yawn. "I'll go see if there are any drinks in the fridge," he announced. "No, no. That's okay. Don't get up. You ladies just go on talking about your feelings."

"Oh, bite me, shortstuff," Bernadette growled.

4:32 P.M. PACIFIC / 6:32 P.M. CENTRAL

Leonard had never been to this part of Mrs. Cooper's house, but it didn't take much logic to find Sheldon's room: it was the only door on the upstairs level that was closed which didn't have dust on the doorknob. He wondered how to alert Sheldon to his presence without scaring him. Then a thought came to him, and he tried and failed to repress a grin. It was too perfect.

He lifted his fist and rapped on the door, once, twice, thrice. "Sheldon." _knock-knock-knock_ "Sheldon." _knock-knock-knock._ "Sheldon."

There was a long pause. Eventually the door opened. Sheldon glared out at him, his face still visibly tearstained. "I suppose you think that's funny," he muttered. "I take it you've worked out how to manipulate space-time too? I can't even have a special power of my own, I presume."

"No, actually," said Leonard. He wiggled his fingers. "Nothing for me, yet. You still have a guaranteed sidekick. No, Amy brought us here. She was able to see how you did it, and sort of—copy it, I guess."

"Amy?" Sheldon straightened, frowning. "But Amy has no interest in or aptitude for the fundamental structure of space and time."

"No, but apparently she still has an interest in _you_. God help the poor woman." Leonard spread his hands in appeal. "Look, can I come in? Or you come out, whichever. I don't want to talk in a doorway like a salesman."

"Why not? You're trying to manipulate me into your desired course of action; I find it an entirely appropriate paradigm." Sheldon folded his arms. "Make your case."

Leonard closed his eyes and breathed out stiffly. "Look, what Raj did was an accident; apparently he can project emotion as well as read it, and he just lost control when he lost his temper. You might not have noticed, but it hit us all pretty hard—hard enough that Raj saw what he did and is going to work very hard not to do something like that again. He's really sorry, and he'll say so himself, if you come downstairs to listen."

Sheldon nodded slowly. "All right. And Amy?"

"What about Amy?"

"Is _she_ going to apologize for hurting me?"

Leonard let out another breath. "Honestly, Sheldon . . . I don't think so, not yet."

"Then we have nothing further to discuss. Good day." Sheldon began to close the door; Leonard lunged forward and blocked it. Sheldon glared at him. "I said good day, sir!" he snapped, and tried harder to push the door shut. Unfortunately his upper body strength still wasn't the equal of Leonard's, and after a moment he gave up. "Well, fine, if you're going to take advantage of being the muscle."

"Sheldon, Amy didn't hurt you because she _wanted_ to, she hurt you because she _had_ to. She needed some time to decide if . . . well, to be honest, to decide if it was worth waiting for you. She ran out of patience, Sheldon. You can't be unfamiliar with that event."

Sheldon glowered at him. "She ran out of patience," he repeated. "Oh, the irony. If she had enough patience to wait just five minutes more, that day, she'd have—" His face froze. "Well, that's not important."

"What? If she'd waited five minutes more, then . . . what?"

Sheldon shifted awkwardly, looking from side to side, not meeting Leonard's eyes. "I don't want to tell you," he said at last.

"But you're going to anyway," said Leonard. "Because we both know your obsessive-compulsive need for closure and aversion to concealing information isn't going to let you leave me hanging, Sheldon. So come on, just admit it. What were you going to do?"

Sheldon reddened. "I was . . . I was going to . . . ." He looked down and mumbled something so quietly Leonard couldn't hear it.

"I'm sorry, what?"

"I was going to _propose,_ all right?!" Sheldon snapped. He nodded, obviously grimly pleased with Leonard's utterly stunned expression. "Look, it was obvious that Amy wasn't going to stop pressuring me until she'd obtained what she wanted, and, well . . . I'll admit it, Leonard, _I_ ran out of patience. I thought the simplest way to settle it for good was just to, in the cinematic vernacular, cut to the chase. Ceremony, cohabitation, coitus, everything. Get it all over with and get back to what's important in our relationship."

"Wow," said Leonard, after a pause. "I don't think I've ever heard you say anything so romantic."

"Well, maybe you would if you listened more. Learn from the master, padawan. You couldn't even pull off a quickie wedding in Vegas successfully."

Leonard clenched his fists and made himself breathe slowly in and out for three counts. "Sheldon—right now it's a really good thing for you I'm not Raj. You understand?"

It took Sheldon a second, but he did. "Oh," he said, looking subdued. "All right, fair enough. Let's both of us admit we've fallen short of perfect romantic success—if by varying degrees—and get back to the basic issue: If Amy apologizes for hurting me, I'll return to the group."

"All right." Leonard lifted a finger. "Counter: If you apologize for hurting Amy, I think she will apologize for hurting you."

"Distinguo," said Sheldon, lifting his own finger. "I never intended to hurt Amy. She deliberately did something she _knew_ would hurt me. Her offense is the greater and thus her apology must come first."

"Counter-distinguo," said Leonard, having to grit his teeth. "Firstly, your unintentional offenses were, A, temporally prior to Amy's, far more numerous and of greater accumulative effect, and B, were the product of a _negligence_ which _was_ intentional, even if direct emotional injury was not. Secondly, the hurt occasioned to you was not the primary goal or intention, but an unpreventable side effect of a necessary good, _id est_ , Amy's need for emotional recovery from the hurt occasioned to _her_. Your offense is thus the greater and so _your_ apology should come first."

"Counter-counter-distinguo!" said Sheldon, holding up a second finger. Then he paused, eyes flicking from side to side, and abruptly put his hand down. "I really don't want to. Because that would involve admitting I made a mistake, and I _hate_ that."

Leonard gave him an exasperated look. Sheldon sighed. "All right, all right," he grumbled. "Blast it. Who would ever have thought I'd regret not taking that undergraduate elective in Rhetoric."

"Saint Thomas Aquinas in the hizz-ouse," said Leonard serenely.

Sheldon glowered sullenly at him. "You only won that argument because I'm obviously still too emotionally traumatized to be on my full game. You wait until I haven't been blasted by an out-of-control projecting empath and then, ho, boy, Thomas Aquinas is eating dust." He rubbed his face, then frowned at his palm. "May I wash my face first, at least?"

"Sure, buddy. Go ahead."

4:39 P.M. PACIFIC / 6:39 P.M. CENTRAL

Voices and music came tinnily from the living room, indicating that someone had turned on the TV. On the stairs, Sheldon paused near the bottom. "Ah," he said, uncharacteristically subdued. "When you said us, you meant everybody. I see." He looked back at Leonard. "I'm not sure I want to do this in front of everyone, Leonard."

"We'll give you whatever privacy you need, Sheldon, but this has to be done. And by the way—" Leonard leaned down to murmur it quietly "—remember, Amy can do the same thing you can do. So there's no point portaling out of here; she can follow you."

"Yes, believe me, I remember. The universe itself conspires against me, it seems," Sheldon muttered. He walked down the hall and into his mother's living room, Leonard just behind him. "Amy Farrah Fowler," he began, without preamble, "it has been incontrovertibly, and rather infuriatingly, proven to me by logic that—"

"Sheldon." Amy looked up. "I'm really sorry, Sheldon—"

"Apology accepted. Let's go home," said Sheldon promptly, and shot Leonard a smug grin. Leonard put his hand to his forehead.

"Sheldon, _look_ ," said Amy, and pointed at the TV. Leonard finally saw the stillness, the silence, and the wide eyes of everyone watching. Unnerved, he came further in so he could see better.

The channel had been turned to the local cable affiliate and an evening news show. " _. . . the single biggest disaster since the Power Pulse itself two days ago,_ " said the newscaster. The picture cut to a helicopter shot of a very familiar hospital, surrounded by ambulances: the caption read, HUNTINGTON MEMORIAL HOSPITAL, PASADENA, CA. Smoke came from some of the windows. Patients on gurneys were being wheeled out _en masse_. Then another shot caught rows of black bodybags, evidently full, laid out in a back parking lot. Penny gasped.

" _The government is not yet releasing details of the attack_ ," the newscaster continued, " _but the number of bodies, and the lack of suspects, makes it almost certain that a metahuman was behind it—possibly multiple metahumans. The following people have been named as persons of interest related to the event, and several of them are also key figures in the investigation of the Power Pulse itself, as well as having been confirmed as metahuman. All are currently reported to be at large._ "

"Uh-ohhhh," said Howard, grimacing.

Images flashed up with each name. " _Confirmed metahumans include Miss Penelope Victoria Carmichaels—_ " ("Oh, _shit_ ," exclaimed Penny.) " _—Miss Lucy Ann Armbruster, and Miss Emily Ruth Sweeney._ " ("Oh, boy," gulped Raj.) Beneath each of the girls' faces was a fire-alarm red label reading simply META. " _Suspected metahumans include Dr. Amy Farrah Fowler, Mr. Howard Joel Wolowitz—_ " ("Oh my God, do they go out of their _way_ to highlight it?!" Howard snapped.) " _—Dr. Rajesh Ramayan Koothrappali, Dr. Leonard Leakey Hofstadter, and Dr. Sheldon Lee Cooper. Drs. Hofstadter and Cooper are also the primary initiators behind the scientific experiment now thought to be responsible for the Power Pulse. All are presumed highly dangerous and should not be approached._ "

"Shelley?!" came a disbelieving voice. Everybody snapped around.

Mary Cooper stood in the doorway of her house. She stared at the TV set, then looked at the people in her living room. Carefully, she came in and set the bag of groceries she was carrying down by the door, then walked into the living room and up to Sheldon. Without a word, she hugged him fiercely. After a moment, he returned it.

She pulled back and looked him straight in the eyes. "Sheldon. Do you have something to tell me?"

Sheldon sighed. "Yes, mother, we do. But I have to warn you, I don't think you're going to like it. Or, possibly, believe it."

"Oh, Shelley, after what I've been seeing on the news the past two days I don't think there's much I wouldn't believe." She shooed Howard and Bernadette over and sat down on the couch. "Just tell me what you need to. I promise you, I can handle it."

"Mrs. Cooper?" said Penny, raising her hand. "Hold that thought. Please."


	5. Chapter 5

THE METAHUMAN TRANSFIGURATION

 **Description:** The gang gets superpowers. It's not as cool as some of them always thought. Alternate Season 9 premiere.

 **Notes:** The more anal-retentive fans may have noticed (as I only did with this chapter) that Leonard and Sheldon actually live at 2311 _North_ Los Robles Avenue. As I cannot bring myself to care enough about this to edit and reload every chapter, I am hereby declaring that these versions of the characters live in a very slightly different parallel universe. (Well, it's significantly more different _now_ , but nonetheless.) Thank you to everyone who has reviewed and followed the story; I hope the ride continues to meet all expectations of craziness.

 **Update Notes as of Oct 17:** Minor but important continuity detail revised (I forgot that Barry Kripke had taken everybody's cellphones away in Chapter One and never given them back). So I guess I'll bother going through the edit and reload for _some_ mistakes.

 **Disclaimer:** The author does not own THE BIG BANG THEORY or any of the characters.

\- 5 -

HUNTINGTON MEMORIAL HOSPITAL, PASADENA, CA

THURSDAY, AUGUST 27, 2015, 4:42 P.M.

Angela Page strode across the hospital's parking lot towards the FBI command centre vehicle, flanked on one side by Dr. Glenn Foxworth—whom she'd yanked from his office in Chicago at first over his protests, and then with his all-too-enthusiastic cooperation—and on the other by her task force adjutant, Nick Anderson, a skilled young field agent from Iowa whom she would have appreciated more if he hadn't made it clear he had his eyes on her job. That was par for the course in the FBI, but the sensible agents made more effort to conceal it; Anderson was a little too free with suggestions and tweaks for all her decisions. Only the fact that those suggestions had been reasonable, and that Page didn't punish her own where outsiders could watch, had kept Anderson free of a significant dressing-down so far.

Of course, he was taking that as license to push ever farther, and Page had decided that her visit to the FBI's command centre truck was going to have a second purpose besides reporting back to Washington. She was going to have to take a certain amount of reaming herself as it was, and right now, she wasn't above sharing out some of that reaming.

"The correlation between exposure intensity and proximity, incubation time and eventual strength is demonstrable, though not 100% consistent," said Foxworth, flipping through sheets in a folder as he walked. "The younger you are, the more likely you are to manifest; nobody over fifty years of age seems to have been affected, and only a very few over forty. Physical puberty also seems to be a limiting factor: we have no reported manifestations at all so far of anyone younger than thirteen, or possibly twelve. And there seems to be a correlation with, well, for lack of a better word, mentality and personality; most of the people showing manifestations have been psychologically exceptional in some way or another—IQ, charisma, unusual talents or gifts of some kind, and so on. Unfortunately that also seems to include those who are psychologically unusual in negative ways, and if Winters and Sweeney are any example, whatever their issues were before the Pulse, they get, well . . . ." He shrugged unhappy. "Worse."

"But still no physiological markers?" pressed Anderson.

"Not one that's shown up on any tests we've been able to do yet," said Foxworth. "Kripke, Winkle and Bloom all consented to MRIs, and we've got those scheduled, but the backlog on MRI runs is always so long that you need a court order to jump it, which we're still in the process of getting. Blood tests, tox screens and pathogen tests have all proven negative for anything unusual so far, and the first few DNA tests we've finished haven't found any differences either. Sweeney was the only one who showed significant metabolic alterations, and the doctors are still in the process of trying to figure out what the heck all _her_ anomalies add up to. Academic as that is now, of course."

"She was the only Primary significantly injured at Ground Zero _before_ the Pulse went off," said Anderson. "Maybe that makes a difference. Agent Page, we should put out a request to any other agencies dealing with metahumans and get that question as part of their surveillance intel. I could draft a memo for you to distribute, if you like . . . ."

Page held up a hand, abruptly fed up. The dressing down could wait. She didn't have the patience left to do it professionally right now. "Not at the present time, Agent Anderson. Most government agencies out there are still building their basic procedures for handling all this, and all of them are hampered by the fact we simply don't have any laws on the books about this stuff. Loading them down with extra intel requests is just going to make their work harder. Instead, I want you to coordinate the field hunt for our missing Primaries. You have the bios and the addresses; get surveillance teams in place on all likely target locations and start assembling capture teams. I'm going to concentrate on locating Winters and Sweeney. Go." She indicated the command truck.

Anderson opened his mouth, but there was really nothing he could say that wouldn't amount to contradicting a direct order, and Page saw that he knew and resented this. Stiffly, he nodded and went on, climbing the stairs into the truck and closing the door behind him. Page slumped and wiped her forehead. "God save me from people who want to prove they have initiative," she muttered.

"People like you, you mean?" said Foxworth archly.

"Exactly." She flicked a smile at him, turned around and beckoned him back with her towards the hospital. "The truth is, Doctor, I know the four missing Primary males. None of them are threats. They're all quite capable of being enormously _irritating_ , and they may be more potentially dangerous now . . . but none of them are threats. Safer for Anderson to handle them."

"Didn't you say Wolowitz caused serious financial damage to the space program?"

"Wolowitz drove the Mars Rover into a ditch trying to impress a girl," Page scoffed. "He's a lech, not a terrorist. He had his clearance reinstated for his trip to the International Space Station. And Fowler, like your Rostenkowski girl, is an accomplished scientist with no significant religious or political affiliations. Carmichaels we're still doing research on. It's conceivable she could be a _really_ deep-cover sleeper agent; she's engaged to Hofstadter, and our files show he's been targeted by honey-trap espionage before . . . ."

Foxworth made a face. "Doesn't sound likely, to me. I remembered this, actually, a little while ago, and meant to tell you when I could: I met her before. Carmichaels, I mean."

"Really?!" Page stopped and turned to him, suddenly alert. "When was this?"

"About four years ago, when I bumped into Bernie again at a convention. That whole group was there." Foxworth smiled reminiscently. "They were giving one of the opening panels together, and there was clearly some, ah, interpersonal tension going on. I'm sure it was no fun for any of _them_ , but watching from the audience, it was . . . ." He chuckled. "Oh my, it was funny. Unprofessional as all get out, but funny. Anyway, I wound up giving Penny a lift back to Pasadena that day, and we talked for a while. I think I can pretty confidently assure you she is no sleeper agent."

"'Penny,' is it?" Page raised one eyebrow. "And what tells you this?"

Foxworth shrugged. "Oh, nothing like your experience, but I honestly think a real agent would have asked me more questions and complained far less about her own situation. I'm pretty sure real honey-trap agents don't build the kind of erratic on-off history she and Hofstadter have, either; it's too risky. And I don't think real agents genuinely fall in love with their targets. Or at least, I know they try very hard not to." He gave her a serious look. "There's real love and friendship there among that group, Agent Page. You're used to dealing with criminals. These people are not going to think or react like criminals. Not unless you teach them to."

Page nodded slowly. "You make a good point, Doctor." She paused. "What about Armbruster? Or Sweeney?"

"Ah, well, there I can only go on secondhand comments from Bernie—she and I exchange e-mails every now and again. I don't think she tells her husband that. He gets jealous."

"Does he have reason to be?" She held up her hands placatingly at his offended look. "All right, all right, never mind. Had to ask. Habit."

Foxworth harrumphed and deliberately straightened his jacket. "From what Dr. Rostenkowski told me," he said, "the common link between Armbruster and Sweeney is that they've both dated Dr. Koothrappali. I was reading some of your preliminary interviews with, oh, which one was it, the comic store owner—"

"Bloom," Page supplied.

"Yes, Bloom, thank you. He reported that apparently Dr. Koothrappali had invited Armbruster to attend the event with him, rather than Sweeney—but when Sweeney found out, she came to the lab anyway and the two of them were fighting bitterly just before the accelerator was started up. And apparently the reason Armbruster ended things with Koothrappali was because she was too socially phobic to handle acquaintance with the group as fast as Koothrappali was pressuring her to."

Page folded her arms and stopped; they had reached the main entrance to the hospital, underneath the awning roof, next to the driveway. An ambulance sat waiting beside the doors. "Is there a point to all this, Doctor, or are we just gossiping?"

Foxworth held up the folder. "My _point_ , Agent Page, is that character—emotion—may have more to do with all of this than we thought. Lucy Armbruster is a woman with crippling social phobia; she acquires the ability to phase through solid matter and to turn invisible—to disappear without hindrance from any situation she wants. Penny Carmichaels is a physically adept, vivacious woman who likes solving her own problems; she gained the powers of an iconic comic book hero. Kurt Winters is a professional thug; he acquires superhuman strength, invulnerability, and a catastrophic increase in his antisocial tendencies. And Emily Sweeney, as reported by Bloom, was a horror fan with a distinctly twisted sense of humour, and in the moments just before the Pulse went off, she was angry, betrayed, and then nearly mortally injured trying to save the people who'd betrayed her. And she became . . . what she became.

"If we want to deal successfully with these people, we have to understand _who_ they are, so that we can understand what made them _what_ they are."

Page considered this for a moment. She held out her hand for the folder. "I'll review the psych profiles," she said. "But right now, I think understanding Emily Sweeney is a lot less important than finding her. Dr. Foxworth—"

"Please. Call me Glenn."

Page sighed. "I prefer formality on duty, Doctor. But if you like, I'll call you Glenn in private. In return for which you may call me Angela—again, only when in private. In front of my agents I am _always_ Agent Page. Am I clear?"

Glenn nodded with no sign of offense. "Understood—Angela." Over his shoulder, he indicated the hospital's main doors with his thumb. "What would you prefer me to do—continue reviewing the tests, or run some more interviews with the Primaries we still have here?"

"You choose, Glenn." Page sighed again and massaged her face. "I shouldn't put this off any longer. I have to contact the Washington office and give them the hard details. Including the deaths. I'll be the one who has to write the condolence letters, you know."

Glenn grimaced in sympathy. "I don't imagine that's ever easy."

"I'd be more worried if I did start finding it easy." Page surprised herself with a smile; it dissolved into a yawn. She'd had less than four hours sleep each of the last two nights, and it was catching up to her. "Let me go and get a coffee. I'll meet you in an hour at your designated office."

They parted at the door to the coffee shop, located just by the main entrance for the convenience of visitors and ambulance drivers. Page got herself a large coffee with a shot of espresso, loaded it up with two sugars, then walked back outside, sipping at it as she rehearsed her opening lines to the Washington bureau. She'd have to make it clear to them right up front that the danger in the Primaries had been something nobody could have anticipated—

The side door of the ambulance slammed open just as she passed it. Before she could react two cold, extremely strong hands had seized her and yanked her inside, sending the coffee cup flying, so quickly she didn't even have time to scream before she was slammed to the floor of the ambulance and one of the hands had clapped over her mouth. Emily Sweeney leant down, her brown eyes blazing with chill amber light, to stare right into Page's eyes.

"Agent Page," she whispered. "I tried to get out of here myself. I can't. I tried to get some help—" she jerked her head to one side; Page followed the movement and saw Kurt Winters, lying on a gurney, mumbling incoherently to himself. "—but he's taking longer to get back up to speed than I can afford. So in the interests of picking somebody I _know_ isn't going to be challenged leaving here, I had to go straight to the top. I'm sorry. And—" The amber light suddenly faded, a little. "I'm sorry for what I had to do, but . . . if they'd just—fucking— _backed off_ , it wouldn't have gone so far."

Then her face hardened, and the cold light blazed anew in her eyes. "So this is what you're going to do. When the paramedics come back, you're going to commandeer this ambulance and drive it out of here, and you're not going to tell anyone where you're going or that we're in the back. If anyone asks, just say it's confidential and related to the search for Primaries. Are we clear?"

Page mastered the terror blazing through her nerves with a vast effort of will. "Miss Sweeney," she murmured against Emily's palm, as calmly as she could, "what makes you think I'll do any of this?"

Emily smiled mirthlessly, her teeth white and gleaming in the dimness of the ambulance. "Because you won't have a choice. Not when I'm done with you."

The amber light blazed up blindingly bright, and drowned the world. Page fought. From inside, it seemed to last forever. But when it ended, she knew, screaming inside the cage around her mind, that it had taken only seconds.

632 SECOND STREET, EVERHOLT, TEXAS

4:54 P.M. PACIFIC / 6:54 P.M. CENTRAL

Leonard had let Sheldon tell the story of what had happened, partly because he knew Sheldon's eidetic memory would ensure nothing was missed and partly because it was easier than having Sheldon correct him all the time. Some of how Sheldon presented things was, as always, slanted in his own favour—he seemed oddly convinced that his new abilities were something he could have done all along if he had only figured out how, before now—but Leonard suspected Mary Cooper knew her son well enough to compensate for that. When he finally finished, Mary sank back into her couch and wiped her face. "Well, now," she said, eyebrows high. "This is . . . this is an awful lot to take in."

"We know, Mrs. Cooper," Leonard said. "And we're really grateful for your hospitality while we figure out what we're going to do."

Mary waved it off. "Oh, honey, don't you fret about that. I practically feel like all y'all are family already." She looked thoughtful. "You know, I think the best thing to do right now is make some food. Anybody hungry?"

Sheldon scowled. "Mother, I hardly think that indulging a bodily appetite is the optimum use of our limited—" He was cut off by his own stomach, which growled loudly, and cleared his throat. "Then again, nutrition is a vital requirement."

"By which he means, we'd love that," said Penny. "Can we help?"

Mary shifted uncomfortably and glanced at Leonard, who wished he hadn't mentioned the general quality of Penny's cooking the last time Mary had visited Pasadena. "Oh, well, I certainly don't need _all_ of you . . . Leonard, Rajesh, maybe you'd care to assist me?" Then she snapped her fingers and looked distressed. "Oh, wait, though—Rajesh, I'm sorry, but I don't keep alcohol in this house . . . ."

Raj held up his hands. "It's quite all right, Mrs. Cooper. I no longer need alcohol to be able to talk to women, however lovely they are." He bowed to her. Howard rolled his eyes and muttered something that sounded like " _oh, brother_ " under his breath. Sheldon sat up, looking outraged.

Mary smiled delightedly. "Well, praise the Lord! Who says miracles don't happen?" Abruptly the smile dropped into a stern look and she slapped his arm; Raj recoiled with a hurt look. "But save the flattery for somebody your own age. And come to think of it, given the problems _that_ seems to've caused, I might suggest you put a sock in it on general principles. Now up. You and Leonard are going to help me prepare some fried chicken. The rest of you, why don't you get the dining room table set? Shelley can show you where everything is."

Sheldon looked torn between protesting the relegation to chore duty and his delight at the choice of meal, but finally sighed. "Yes, Mom," he said. "Well, come on, everyone." He went to the dining room, got a dustcloth from a sideboard drawer and began wiping down the table. Leonard and Raj followed Mary into the kitchen, where Mary handed them each a knife; Leonard got a plate of potatoes, Raj carrots and onions. For a few minutes the only sound was the chopping of blades on cutting boards, and the quiet sizzle of the deep-fryer heating up.

"Leonard," said Mary quietly. Her hands were motionless in a bowl of spices. "How much trouble are all of you in? Really?"

Leonard and Raj exchanged glances. Leonard sighed and turned to face her. "Honestly, Mrs. Cooper, I don't know. I've read, and seen, a hundred different stories about stuff like this happening. Sometimes they decide they want to round people up and imprison them, sometimes they try to draft them into government service, sometimes they decide just to exterminate them . . . ."

"Sometimes they build giant flying robots to do the exterminating," added Raj. Leonard glared at him, and he cringed. "Sorry."

"Exterminating. Oh, my." Mary swallowed, then gave herself a shake. "You, you don't really think that they would . . . ?"

"Oh no, Mrs. Cooper, no, no no, I don't think they'd try to do that. I don't think they _can_." Leonard waved back at the living room, where the TV was still on. "The world knows metahumans exist now, there's no point in trying to cover that up. And none of us have actually committed any crimes, after all. Heck, Howard and I haven't even developed abilities."

"No, but you did blow up a JPL lab building," Raj pointed out. "And a prototype particle accelerator that probably cost the better part of fifty million dollars, in both public and private funding. The university might not be all that happy about that. Or the State of California. Or the federal government."

Leonard closed his eyes and leant against the counter, rubbing his forehead. "Thank you, Raj."

"Well, I'm just saying, even a multimillion-dollar lawsuit's better than jail time. Right?"

"Raj, you are _not—helping!_ " Leonard snapped, and instantly regretted it as Raj jerked backwards and stumbled against the kitchen table, blinking as if Leonard had punched him. Mary squeaked and went to his side. Raj patted her shoulder, shaking his head. Leonard made a sheepish face. "Sorry, Raj."

Raj grimaced. "Well, that was sort of my fault, I guess. I just wish I could get a handle on this. It goes in and out."

Mary held her hands together before her—not quite a gesture of prayer, but close. "Forgive me, boys, but I have to ask this." She glanced towards the living room and lowered her voice. "If what Sheldon has told me is right—and looking at you right now, Raj, I can't think to doubt this—the things you can do now, they're . . . they're dangerous. They make _you_ dangerous. To yourselves as well as others. I asked how much trouble you were in; I should have asked . . . how much trouble _are_ you? Should—" She stopped for a moment and took a shaky breath. "Should we be afraid?"

"Of _Sheldon?!_ " Leonard took Mary by the shoulders. He wished he was tall enough to bend down for this; people always seemed to find that more reassuring. But he projected all the confidence he could. "No. Never. Sheldon would never hurt you, Mary. I don't think he'd hurt any of us."

Mary shook her head impatiently. "Oh, Leonard, I know he'd never intend anything like that. None of you would, I'm sure. And it's not so much me I'm scared for."

Leonard frowned. "What do you mean?"

Mary sighed. "Leonard, I love my son, but the plain truth is you need a hide like a rhino's to live with him, because everything Jesus gave Shelley in brains He took away in carin' 'bout ordinary folk." Her face took on an unhappy expression. "To be fair, between his father and the neighbourhood kids, the 'ordinary folk' didn't exactly give him a lot of reason to care. I was really hopin' Amy might get him to start seein' things a bit differently, but . . . ." She shook her head. "Well, the Lord giveth and the Lord taketh away, for His own reasons. Heck, Shelley's so clueless about people he's actually _easier_ to live with when he's _tryin'_ to tick you off, 'cause he can't get that any righter than anything else."

Leonard raised his eyebrows and looked at Raj. Raj shrugged. "You know, she's not wrong."

"Of course I'm not wrong, Rajesh; this is my son we're talkin' about." Mary took a deep breath and brushed herself down, as if physically pulling herself back together. "But now this is my son with a whole lot of truly supernatural power handed to him, and Leonard, I'd be lyin' if I said I was entirely easy about it. Before, he makes a mistake about people, he hurts their feelings at best, maybe gets himself a dressing down from his boss. He makes a mistake now . . . ." She shrugged helplessly. "You know what he'll do? I don't. And I know him better than just about anyone." For a moment she looked genuinely haunted, staring into space as if seeing a hundred different futures, all terrifying.

Leonard fought down the urge to swallow, realizing only then how badly he'd been hoping Mary would reassure _him_. He tried to think what to say. Before anything came to mind, Raj stepped forward and put a hand on her shoulder. "Mrs. Cooper," he said solemnly, "I don't know what's going to happen any more than you do, but I can promise you, we will do our best to keep Sheldon safe. In every sense of that word." He smiled.

And just as he'd felt back in his apartment, Leonard could sense the force coming off Raj's mind now—except this time it was warm and gentle where before it had been a furious torrent; focused narrowly on Mrs. Cooper, where before it had simply flared out in all directions. Before his eyes Mary returned Raj's smile, and Leonard _saw_ the fear fade from her, the hope return. "Thank you, Rajesh," she murmured, and moved into his arms, hugging him.

Leonard took off his glasses and sent Raj the fiercest glare he could. Raj blinked at him, visibly taken aback, but could not answer before Mary broke the embrace; she patted him on the chest, pulled herself together with a huff and turned back to the stove. "Now," she said, "let's get those veggies into the oven to roast, before they dry out."

Leonard put his glasses back on and nodded obediently. "Yes, ma'am," he said, and turned back to his chopping board, concealing the unease in his gut as best he could.

5:38 P.M. PACIFIC / 7:38 P.M. CENTRAL

"By His hand we are all—" said Mary, and paused.

"Fed," said Sheldon, sounding bored. He gave everyone else a sharp look.

"Give us, Lord, our daily—"

"Bread." Penny, Bernadette, Amy and Leonard joined in this time, though Howard and Raj just held hands with the rest of them and looked uncomfortable.

"Please know that we are truly—"

"Grateful."

"For every meal and every—"

"Plateful," said Sheldon, and released himself with alacrity. Penny wondered how much of that had to do with his annoyance with prayer and how much had to do with the fact that Mary, in what had to be either blithe obliviousness or a rather pointed message, had seated him between herself and Amy. Amy had shown neither objection nor enthusiasm, but Penny, who had been seated on Amy's other side, had felt Amy's grip tighten with tension, to a point that might have been painful a few days ago.

Then again, Penny thought, abruptly revising her opinion as the platters came round, Sheldon's hastiness might just have been sheer eagerness to eat. This smelled _delicious_. She grabbed two pieces of the fried chicken along with her vegetables, and was halfway through the first before she remembered something. "Ah, crap," she mumbled through a mouthful.

Mary looked concerned. "Something wrong with your food, hon?"

"No, it's absolutely perfect," said Penny. "I just forgot I've been trying to keep up with my vegetarianism. This is just as good as my dad's barbecued steaks." She took another big bite, her eyes almost rolling back in bliss. She hadn't realized how hungry she was.

"Might be the change, you know," suggested Leonard. "For all we know your metabolism's kicked up a level or more, Penny. You might need to start upping your protein intake."

Penny frowned. "Which means?"

"Eat more meat," said Bernadette helpfully. Abruptly she snickered. "I'm sorry, Howie, I couldn't help remembering—your mom always kept telling me the same thing."

Howard nodded with a rueful smile. "Yeah, that was Mom." He paused, then spoke in a loud, abrasive, nasal rasp: "I keep _telling_ you, bubeleh, you're too _skinny_ , eat, eat!"

Bernadette snorted with laughter and joined in. Her impression was even more eerily accurate than Howard's. "Come on, sweetheart, men like to see a little pastrami on the _tuchis_ , ah?" That got a laugh out of all of them. Even Sheldon smiled slightly.

"Sheldon told me you'd lost your mother, Howard," said Mary. "I'm so sorry. I know how much she loved you, and I'm sure she's in a better place."

Howard shrugged. "We, ah, we don't go in for the same kind of afterlife you do, Mrs. C. We're still waiting on our better place. But as long as it has a kosher buffet once it gets here, I think she'll be happy."

"And as long as that buffet doesn't have a tur-briske-fil, I'm pretty sure everybody else will be too," added Bernadette. She waved one hand at Mary, who looked puzzled. "Don't ask. Believe me."

"You know, I don't know why the oneirion exposure would have caused _physical_ changes," said Sheldon, putting down his chicken leg. "The level of cascade coherence required to induce viable beneficial mutations in an organism beggars the mind for its improbability. All the observed effects so far can be explained by the creation of self-sustaining modifiable oneirion fields in exposed brains through existing neuroplasticity, without any necessary genetic or tissue alterations. I think Penny's just having an attack of gluttony." He nodded to himself in a satisfied way, picked up his chicken and took another bite. "To be strictly fair," he added after swallowing his mouthful, "the gluttony's understandable, when the food is this good."

"Oh, well, I'm glad the gluttony's understandable. Nothing else you just said was," said Penny, frowning. She thought she might have just been insulted, but wasn't sure; she would have been more annoyed if that feeling hadn't actually been welcome for its sheer familiarity.

"Oneirion," said Leonard thoughtfully. "From the Greek _oneiros_ , 'dream', right? That's what you're calling your fifth force boson?"

Sheldon nodded. "I considered calling it the 'cooperon,' but really, that's something that the theoretical physics community would have to award, and I do like the classical touch. Plus, if it didn't work out, it'd be all too easy for substandard minds like Barry Kripke's or Leslie Winkle's to start calling it the 'pooperon,' or, or the 'chicken cooperon.' Or the 'stuperon.'"

"Or worst of all," added Howard, "the 'coopon.'" He chuckled; Leonard, Raj, and even Amy laughed along with him. "Discount rates on craziness at Lab Number 5!"

Mary looked at Penny, visibly bewildered. Penny only shrugged. "When they get like this I just kinda let them run with it, Mrs. C.," she said, taking a bite of potato. "If it's really important I get Leonard to explain it to me later in words of one syllable."

Mary smiled. "Anyone ever told you you really are an angel, sweetheart?"

Penny blushed. "Well, Leonard does, but you know, you kinda have to take his bias into account."

"Hey," said Leonard, mock-indignantly. "Just 'cause I'm biased doesn't mean I'm incorrect." He reached over and took her hand, smiling at her. Gulping back a sudden lump in her throat, Penny squeezed back.

Raj rolled his eyes. "Oh, for Krishna's sake, get a room, you two," he muttered into his plate.

"Rajesh!" said Mary sternly. "I expect you to show better manners at my table, dear. That does remind me of a question I wanted to ask, though," she said, turning to Penny, as Raj slumped back in his chair. She waved her fork back and forth between Penny and Leonard. "You two made any more plans about getting married, or you still just cheerfully fornicating in sin?"

Leonard choked loudly, pounded himself on the chest and grabbed his glass of apple juice to take a long swig. Penny put her fork down, her face burning. For the first time she envied Lucy's ability to disappear through floors. "I, uh . . . well, you see, Mrs. Cooper, we—"

"They decided to elope back in May, Mom," said Sheldon, rolling his eyes as if the whole topic bored him immensely, which, Penny had to admit, it probably did. "Of course Leonard couldn't even get that right, he had to pick exactly that moment to confess to Penny about a minor two-minute indiscretion with a marine biologist on the North Sea over a year ago, which I gather pretty much completely snuffed the impulse. You know," he added, turning to Penny, "I don't understand why you continue to be that bothered about it. You spend far more time and mental energy fantasizing about Hollywood actors than Leonard ever spent thinking about Mandy Chao, and you feel no guilt at all about that."

Leonard buried his face in his hands. "Thank you, Sheldon, for so neatly summing up my humiliation," he said through them, voice muffled.

"You're welcome," said Sheldon.

An earsplitting _crack_ echoed through the dining room, making everyone jump. Penny stared down at her hands, which were holding a jagged chunk of the table's edge. She hadn't even realized she'd been gripping the table in an effort to hold onto her temper. And her hands didn't feel strained or sore at all. It had been like snapping Styrofoam in half. Her fury drowned in mortification, and she dropped the chunk of wood and held her hands to her breast, face beet-red.

"Ah, well," said Mary, clearing her throat. "Don't you fret about that, sweetheart, I've been meaning to replace this table anyway—"

"No," said Amy suddenly. "No, Mrs. Cooper, I think it's about time we said some things that have needed to be said for a long time." She put her cutlery neatly by her plate and turned to face Sheldon. Strangely, she didn't seem angry at all; her tone was firm and decisive rather than accusatory. "Sheldon, you've been allowed to get away with your chronic disregard for other people's feelings all your life because we know how genuinely difficult you find it to recognize and understand them, and because you've never been given much incentive to try. But two days ago, the world changed. _We_ changed.

"What do you think would have happened if Penny had still been holding Leonard's hand, when you said what you just said? What do you think would have happened if your mother had been at home, standing in the living room, when you ripped open your portal and came here? Do you know? Can you really afford to be careless about other people any longer? Raj and Penny only lost their tempers for a second, but Raj knocked us all flat on our posteriors and Penny broke a hardwood table. What do you think will happen if _you_ lose _your_ temper, now that you have the kind of power you've fantasized about all your life?"

Eyes wide and mouth slightly open, Sheldon stared at Amy as if he had no idea who she was.

"Sheldon—" Amy paused half an instant, squaring her shoulders, but then went on exactly as she had "—I love you, and the apology you tried to give me two days ago at the laboratory means more to me than I can say. But if it means anything to _you_ beyond simply honouring a social protocol, then I'm going to have to tell you probably the hardest truth you'll ever face in your life: It's _not enough_ any more just to honour the protocols. Not for any of us." She leant forward and took Sheldon's hands; he started as if he'd forgotten he had them. "From this day forward, Sheldon, the first thing you're going to think about before you say, or do, _anything_ is going to be: 'How will this make the people thereby affected feel?' And if you don't know the answer, ask somebody else first, whom you trust. Ask me, or Leonard, or Penny or Bernadette. Or even Howard or Raj."

Howard and Raj exchanged a frown. "Wait—' _even_ Howard or Raj'?!" Howard muttered indignantly. Raj nodded and spread his hands, as if to say _WTF?_

"But the days of behaving like the rest of the world is an annoying distraction are _over_ , Sheldon," Amy finished, ignoring them. "And you're the one who knows why better than any of us. What's the famous Spider-Man maxim again?"

The question stopped Sheldon cold in his tracks; he'd clearly been about to protest, or argue, or evade the point. Instead, he looked almost betrayed. Slowly, he dropped his eyes, until he was staring at Amy's hands where they enfolded his. "With great power . . . comes great responsibility," he finally muttered, so quietly that only the absolute stillness of the rest of the room made it audible at all.

Amy nodded. Not smiling, she leant forward the last distance between them and kissed him, not passionately but steadily. Penny gasped and covered her mouth with both hands. Amy had told her she and Sheldon had actually kissed from time to time, but she'd never seen it—and, she realized now, had still more than half disbelieved it, the way she'd never really believed Howard was going to space until she'd watched his rocket blast upwards from the launch pad. And yet here Sheldon was, neither pulling away nor hunching up in disgust. In fact—Penny had to exert every ounce of willpower not to squeal like a schoolgirl—he looked like he might even be moving his head and mouth, just a little. For Sheldon that was practically the equivalent of dramatically sweeping everything off his desk and throwing someone onto it.

Leonard leaned in very close to her, looking as if someone had just whaled him across the face with a pillow. "I am seeing this, right?" he murmured, sounding dazed. Bernadette was grinning; Raj looked halfway between flabbergasted and uncomfortable, while Howard was drumming his fingertips together and looking everywhere but at Amy and Sheldon. Mary stared steadfastly at the kitchen, dabbing at her eyes with a napkin. Penny only nodded and took Leonard's hand. She felt like she might be glowing.

Finally Mary cleared her throat, then again, more loudly, and Amy separated from Sheldon. She still wasn't smiling, and neither was he, but that betrayed, shocked look was gone. Instead, he looked puzzled, almost bemused. "This is not the manner in which I planned to effect a reconciliation."

"Good," said Amy. "Then here's your first lesson: Learn to accept that the optimum solution is not always _your_ solution."

Sheldon sighed. "Oh, dear. That's going to be extraordinarily difficult, you know. I have so little experience of those two things not matching."

"Okay, it _is_ him," Leonard muttered to Penny. "For a minute there I was afraid he'd been possessed or replaced." Penny snickered and squeezed his hand again.

Mary wiped her eyes one last time and smiled brightly. "Well, I suppose congratulations are in order? Amy, Sheldon, I don't think I have any really good deserts in the house, but there's half a Sara Lee chocolate cake in the—" She was cut off by a sharp rapping from the front door, and rolled her eyes. "Oh, for heaven's sake, who could that be?" she muttered, and threw her napkin down. "One moment, folks." She got up and left the dining room.

"Chocolate cake!" said Raj gleefully. "Sheldon, your mother wouldn't mind if I went and got it out for her, would she?"

Sheldon blinked. "Well, she _did_ indicate she already planned to do so, but I don't know if that creates an effective legal easement for the interior of her refrigerator—" he began.

" _What the hell are you doing?! Get out of my—!_ " Mary's shout sliced through the air, then was cut off with a short, sharp, buzzing sound; Penny heard the sound of a body hitting the floor, and the thunder of heavy running treads. The door to the dining room filled with black-armoured men in riot helmets, Kevlar and combat boots, transparent riot shields held up before them and heavy squarish black pistols in their hands. Before any of them could react the cop in front lifted his pistol and shot Sheldon. Sheldon went rigid, spasming and juddering, then fell over and began to writhe on the floor. Amy screamed.

The explosion of fury that detonated in Penny's brain was all her own, this time. "You son of a _bitch!_ " she shrieked, and leapt at the men in the doorway. Piercing stings rattled her skin without effect as more Taser guns went off. She landed in front of the leader, between him and Sheldon, and swung her best Nebraska haymaker. The cop got the riot shield up, which, Penny belatedly realized, probably saved his life: her fist smashed through the shield, bursting it apart in a hail of plastic splinters, and continued on to strike the cop so hard on his Kevlar-armoured chest that he flew almost five yards backwards into Mary's living room, taking down three more cops as he crashed into them. Stunned, Penny gaped at her own fist. Had _she_ done that?

The hesitation was a mistake. Another cop tackled her around the waist, and for the first time Penny learned the difference between leverage momentum and mass inertia: all the superstrength and invulnerability in the world didn't stop a man who weighed twice what she did bringing her to the floor. She screamed, this time more in fright than fear, and flailed around, but couldn't find anything to push against. Before she could get her balance two sets of hard hands, neither as strong as she was now but both much better trained, had seized her arms and pushed them up behind her shoulder blades nearly to the snapping point, almost dislocating them. This time Penny's howl was nothing but pain.

" _No!_ " She felt the wave of Raj's anger burst over her, as it had back in the guys' apartment, but there was more control to it this time; what was only a disorienting judder to her hit the cops with the force of a tsunami. Penny's captors released her and fell back, hunching down, gripping their helmets with both hands as if holding a lid down on overloaded pressure cookers. She tried to get to her feet and grab one of them herself—and yelled again in agony; the wrenching pressure of the cops' immobilization grip had left its mark, and she could barely move her arms.

"Bestie! Are you okay?" Amy grabbed her shoulder—and Penny felt a _zing_ whip through her like a static shock, not unpleasant but startling. Amy released her and staggered back, just in time for herself and Raj to get hit with another burst of Taser darts from the cops who had, unseen, come in through the back door into the kitchen. Raj gurgled and dropped like a ladder knocked over from a garage; the wave of rage holding down the first group of cops vanished.

But Amy turned, blinking, shrugging away the darts as if they hadn't touched her at all. Which, Penny realized, they hadn't. In the corner of the room where they'd taken cover, Leonard, Howard and Bernadette stared at her. Then, without changing expression, Amy picked up the dining room table in both hands, swung it once left and right to clear it off with a cacophony of shattering porcelain, tossed it lightly up as if it were made of cardboard, then caught it in an upright vertical position before her like a bulldozer's blade and charged the kitchen door. The cops in the kitchen tried to retreat, but too late; Amy hit them like a bowling ball through a set of tenpins, smashing them to the ground with roars and grunts of pain.

Howard seized the moment, scrambled across the dining room floor on hands and knees, ripped off one shoe, stuffed his hand into it, and used the rubber sole to catch the Taser darts by their connecting wires and yank them out of Sheldon. Sheldon instantly went limp, blinking up dazedly at the ceiling. Howard hauled him up to a sitting position. "Sheldon!" he shouted. "Can you get us out of here?! ASAP, buddy, please, _move!_ "

A hand fell on Penny's shoulder, squeezing the abused joint tight enough to draw a scream of pain, but this time she was angry enough to fight through it. She whirled and back-kicked the cop, sending him flying back into the living room. "Sheldon!" she bellowed. "Seriously, Sheldon, we need to leave like _now!_ " She struck out against the other cops, this time concentrating on short darting jabs at a fraction of her strength, spinning away from any return attacks before anyone could get a grip; nightclubs broke across her arms and back without effect. At the door to the kitchen, Amy was calmly using the ten-foot-long hardwood table to smack down any cop who got too close. Bernadette and Leonard had repeated Howard's trick, and dragged the equally stunned Raj to where Howard held Sheldon up. " _Sheldon!"_

Sheldon shook his head exhaustedly. "I can't," he mumbled. "I can't. Coordinates . . . too complex . . . I can't _think_ , oh Lord, my _head_ . . . ."

Leonard grimaced. "Great, _now_ he gets his Shatner impersonation down. Sheldon, buddy, come on, we've got to—"

The outside window of the dining room shattered. Several small, cylindrical objects clattered into the room and fell to the floor near Howard and Sheldon. Howard's eyes bulged; his face went pale. "Oh, _shit_ ," he said, and hunched down, throwing his arms over his head. " _Everyone! Cover your—!_ "

Everything stopped.

Penny slowly straightened from her own involuntary hunch. The room had gone dead silent. She looked back at the cop she'd just stiff-armed, and realized he was hovering in mid-air, frozen in the middle of his catapulted backwards flight. Amy stared wide-eyed at the table she was holding, then let go of it and backed away: it stayed in mid-air without moving. There was no sound in the house at all. And outside the windows, the night beyond had gone dead black; no stars, no hum of traffic, no streetlights.

Leonard stared at Sheldon. "Sheldon . . . did you just do what I think you just did?"

Sheldon let out an exhausted, painful breath. "If you think what I just did," he rasped, "was to displace the seven of us into . . . into a synchronized-phase common temporal pocket . . . then yes, that's exactly what I did." He held out his hands; without protest, Howard and Leonard hauled him to his feet, where he stood swaying. "It's much simpler than creating a contiguity on the fly or a simultaneous sevenfold teleportation, but it still ain't no picnic." He looked at Amy and managed a smile. "Congratulations, Peter Petrelli."

Amy frowned. "Who?"

"Character from a TV show," supplied Leonard. "He could copy others' powers by touching them. Looks like you lucked out, Amy." Penny wondered if that was envy in his voice, but couldn't be sure; she was still too dazed from the fight, and from the unnatural, impossible stillness around her.

Bernadette struggled to her feet, helping Raj get up with her. "Sheldon, how long can you keep this up?" She waved around at the dining room.

Sheldon winced and touched his temples. "Not long. We're only breathing because our time pocket is bringing oxygen across the temporal disjunction barrier; that mass transition is eventually going to destabilize the pocket and collapse it. We'd better get back to our apartment." With one shoe he indicated the cylindrical objects on the floor. "Certainly before those stun grenades go off."

Penny frowned. "Won't they be watching our building?"

Sheldon shook his head impatiently. "Yes, but almost certainly it'll just be from the outside. I can open a contiguity to bring us all right into the living room—" He stopped, suddenly looking aghast. "Oh, Lord. _Mom._ " Without warning he let go and staggered out, worming his way past the time-frozen cops. They followed, and found him kneeling by Mary, who'd fallen to one side by the front door. Her wide eyes stared sightlessly at the ceiling; Sheldon knelt, hand out but not quite making contact, as if desperate to touch her and terrified to try.

"I think she's all right," said Leonard, and pointed. "Look, the only thing that's hit her is the Taser darts. Can you bring her into the time pocket?"

Sheldon shook his head. "Not that much dense mass at once. The pocket will collapse." He looked to Penny, and for a moment a hint of his old condescension came through. "That means, effectively, that time will appear to 'start up again', and we'll be back in the fight."

To her own surprise, Penny grinned. "Okay, then, we'll just have to do this quickly. Can you open a hole back to your place from here?" He nodded, and she clapped her hands together. "Right, this is how we're going to do it."

Thirty seconds later, the rest of the group had gathered near the big front windows of the living room, the clearest space. Only Penny had positioned herself elsewhere; she knelt by the front door, her arms out, poised right beside Mary's prone body. She held up one hand. "Okay, Sheldon, hit it."

Sheldon sucked in a deep breath, lifted his arms, touched his fingertips together over his head, and drew a rectangle in the air down to the floor. His fingers met on the base, and for a few moments the air flickered inside that rectangle. Sheldon grimaced as if his head suddenly hurt. Then, without warning, the spatial distortion seemed to snap into place and Penny could see the living room of Leonard's and Sheldon's apartment through it. "Okay," she called, "everybody else, go go go!"

Leonard, Raj, Bernadette, Amy and Howard ducked through the portal. Sheldon stepped up to it, then turned to look back at Penny, his fear, worry, and fatigue like cold fire blazing from his face. Penny nodded. "Don't worry, Sheldon. I've got her. On three, just like we practiced, right?" Sheldon nodded. "Okay," she said. "One, two—"

"Wait, wait!" Sheldon suddenly interrupted. "Is it _on_ three, or just _after_ three? You know, is it 'one, two, _three!_ ' or 'one, two, three, _go_ '—?"

"It's one-two-three-go, Sheldon!" shouted Penny. "Now come on, are you ready? One, two, three— _go!_ "

Sheldon closed his eyes. He made no movement, said nothing, did not even snap his fingers, but abruptly time resumed; the cops in mid-air hit the floor, and the dining room table crashed down, fell back and broke apart, finally giving up the ghost. Cries and moans of pain went up as Penny got her arms under Mary, lifted her like a hollow doll and sprinted for the portal. She leapt through with Mary over her shoulder just as something went off behind her with a thunderous _CRACK_ and a blaze of light like a magnesium flare. Then the portal closed.

2311 LOS ROBLES AVENUE, #4A

6:05 P.M.

Penny paused a moment to catch her breath. She turned to put the unconscious Mary down on the couch, then stopped. It was already occupied.

"Oh my God," breathed Raj. " _Lucy._ " He bent down as if to stroke her hair back from the sleeping girl's forehead, then stopped. His nose wrinkled. "Um—is it just me or does she smell really bad?"

Penny shook her head, wishing she had a hand free so she could wave away the stink of garbage coming off Lucy's clothes. "No, Raj, it's not just you. Bad news, Sheldon: we're all safe and alive, but it doesn't look like your spot is going to make it."

Sheldon grimaced down at Lucy. "I suppose if it was drycleaned once, it can survive it again. Penny, can I ask you to put my mother on the bed in my room?" As she was about to move down the hall, he pointed at her. "And please be aware _this_ doesn't create a permanent easement, either."

Penny surprised herself with a laugh. "Oh, Sheldon, you glorious whackadoodle, I almost don't want you to change _too_ much." Still laughing, she went down to Sheldon's room, eased inside, lay Mary down atop the covers of his bed, and returned to the living room.

Raj knelt by the couch, and Lucy's eyes were fluttering awake under his gentle touch on her forehead. When she saw him, they widened. "Raj," she gulped. "Are, are you okay?"

"Yes, yes, I'm fine. You?"

"Oh yeah! Yeah, I'm great!" She beamed at him; then her smile collapsed into a worried look. "Well, for certain values of 'great' that include probably being a federal fugitive, smelling like the garbage truck I escaped in, and, uh, well, pissing off your current girlfriend to the point she nearly killed me."

"Get in line, lady," said Howard. "If they called a squad of Texas riot cops on Sheldon's mother's house just on the _chance_ we'd somehow show up, I think we're _all_ on that fugitive list." He abruptly frowned, then turned slowly to face Bernadette. "Except . . . maybe for you, honey."

"Me?" squeaked Bernadette. "What are you talking about? What did I do?"

"You _were_ the only one not mentioned in that news broadcast," Sheldon remarked. "Either by name or picture."

"Oh, I think I know why that is," Lucy piped up. "Uh, Bernadette, do you know a doctor by the name of G. Foxworth?"

Bernadette's mouth dropped open. " _Glenn?_ Oh my God, Glenn! Is he _working_ with the FBI on this?"

Howard stared at her. "Wait—Glenn your ex- _boyfriend_ Glenn? Glenn the six-foot-seven-and-probably-correspondingly-large-in-other-places Glenn? Glenn who gave Penny a lift back to Pasadena instead of letting her stay so Leonard could talk her into bed again? He's trying to look _out_ for you?"

Bernadette frowned. "Why does Glenn giving Penny a lift bother you?"

Howard paused, then shrugged. "Well, it doesn't, not really, but I was on a roll. Seriously, though—what does this mean? Should we try to call him for help? _Can_ he help us?"

Leonard cleared his throat. "He might be able to. Whether he'd want to help any of us other than Bernadette is another question. No, I think I have a better idea . . . ." He hesitated, then turned to Penny. "But I don't think you're going to like it. Because it involves calling someone who, well, who you might characterize as an ex. Of sorts."

Penny sighed. "As long as it isn't Priya, Joyce Kim or that marine biologist, I think I can handle it."

Leonard nodded, dug in his pocket, then grimaced in annoyance. "Crap. We never got our phones back from Kripke—the FBI probably has them." His look at Penny was oddly furtive, as if he'd hoped to do this privately, but after a moment he sighed, went to his computer and turned on Skype. Scrolling through his contacts screen, he found the name he was looking for, hesitated a long moment, and at last clicked the "call" icon. The ring chirruped through the systems. The call connected.

The black screen gave way to the face of an attractive woman in her mid-60s, wearing a red embroidered blouse and smiling cheerfully out of the screen. "Hello?" she said. Then her eyes fell on Leonard, and her face and smile brightened amazingly. "Well, hel- _lo_ , Leonard! I haven't talked to you in years. How goes it with the new cryogenic centrifugal pump?"

Penny wanted to slap herself. _Sort-of ex_ , indeed. She still remembered watching Leonard's walk of shame the morning after he'd let this woman seduce him. At the time, when they hadn't been going out, it had just been too funny to find offensive. Now it was suddenly a great deal less amusing.

Leonard cleared his throat again. "The, uh, the pump's fine, Mrs. Latham—"

"Oh, please, Leonard." Mrs. Latham's smile broadened slyly. "Call me Laura."


	6. Chapter 6

THE METAHUMAN TRANSFIGURATION

 **Description:** The gang gets superpowers. It's not as cool as some of them always thought. Alternate Season 9 premiere.

 **Notes:** Sorry for the slightly longer time between updates this time round, folks; real life has this way of interfering. Please note that any statements about available options in FBI training, the economic status of Marvel Comics Inc. or the mechanical structure of Sikorsky helicopters has been fictionalized for sake of drama and may not reflect reality.

 **Disclaimer:** The author does not own THE BIG BANG THEORY or any of the characters.

\- 6 -

2311 LOS ROBLES AVENUE, #4A

THURSDAY, AUGUST 27, 2015, 6:09 P.M.

 _Call me Laura?_ That was it. Penny stuck her head into the laptop's camera pickup, next to Leonard. "Hi!" she said brightly to Mrs. Latham. "Laura, is it? I'm Leonard's fiancée, Penny. Glad to meet you."

"You're engaged, Leonard? Congratulations!" Mrs. Latham's good cheer seemed perfectly sincere, which for some reason only made Penny distrust it all the more. "Are you calling to invite me to the wedding?"

"Um, no, actually. Not that I wouldn't _suggest_ inviting you, if we'd planned a guest list yet, but—" Leonard cleared his throat hard, obviously trying to find someplace to look that wasn't either Mrs. Latham's raised eyebrow or Penny's lowered ones. "Anyway, I'm calling you because, well, we need help. Me and my friends. You see—"

"I've been watching the news, Leonard," said Mrs. Latham, her voice suddenly disquietingly shrewd. "I have a pretty good idea of what kind of help you need. Luckily, I happen to have a principled dislike for government agencies who try to get their way by force, which in practice means I have a low opinion of most government agencies. Do you need a car sent to your apartment?"

Leonard blinked. "I, uh, I don't know. The building's probably being watched. We might not be able to get out."

"Yes, they do tend to do that. All right, I have a better idea. Can you get to your building's roof? I'll send a helicopter."

Penny frowned. "You have a _helicopter?_ "

"I have _lots_ of helicopters, dear. I usually just don't bother riding in them. How many of you are there, again?—seven, eight?"

"Nine," interjected Sheldon. "My mother will be joining us, Mrs. Latham. Just to make sure there isn't any funny business going on."

"Oh, Dr. Cooper, I think it's a little late to worry about funny business, don't you? Nine it is, then. Be on the roof of your building in thirty minutes, Leonard. 'Bye." Mrs. Latham's grin turned sly again, and she winked just before her image disappeared.

Penny looked at Leonard. "You're right. I don't like this."

"I can't say I care for it either, Leonard," said Sheldon. "In fact I'm profoundly disturbed by the whole idea of renewing contact with this woman. I'm rather surprised you aren't."

Leonard frowned at him. "You didn't have any objection when you wanted me to whore myself out to her so she'd fund our department."

"Yes, well, that was before I realized the disturbing similarities between 'Laura Latham' and 'Lex Luthor'."

"Fine," said Leonard, shrugging. "Stay here so they can confiscate all your comic books."

Sheldon blinked. "Of course, linguistic coincidence is nothing to go losing one's head over. Well, come on everybody, chop chop, let's get upstairs."

Raj cleared his throat. "Listen, Sheldon—is there any chance Lucy could have a shower first?" At his side, Lucy looked caught between embarrassment and gratitude. "And Penny, I'm so sorry to impose, but it would really be great if you could lend Lucy some spare clothes . . . ."

Sheldon's eyebrows shot up. "Excuse me—you want somebody who sat for God knows how long in a _municipal garbage truck_ to use _our_ shower? Leave her filthy clothes on _our_ bathroom floor or in _our_ laundry basket?! Do you have any idea of the work it'll take to sterilize . . . the . . . ." Uncharacteristically, he trailed off. Penny followed his gaze and found Amy, her arms folded, giving him a calm look with one eyebrow very slightly raised.

After a moment, Sheldon slumped, glowering. "Oh, all right," he muttered. "On two conditions: one, I get to use it first, now, before it's . . . _sullied_ —" He gave a shudder, then glared at Leonard. "—and two, you go over it first when we come back. With chlorine bleach and the safety coveralls. I'll have to redo it anyway to get it right but at least I'll save _some_ time." He stomped off to the washroom, mumbling to himself. Amy closed her eyes and let out a breath.

Howard gazed at her admiringly. "Amy, I have only one thing to say to you. What the hell have you done with the real Sheldon Cooper?"

Amy shrugged. "It's just basic neuroscience, Howard—all you have to do is find the most strongly inculcated symbol framework for someone's moral reflexes, and for most of you guys, that's comic books. Then you just push the right buttons at the right time. I was considering going with the old Spock quote about 'the needs of the many,' but I'd kinda like to save that for emergencies."

Howard nodded, looking impressed. Then he frowned and gave Bernadette a slightly worried look. "You . . . don't use comic book morals to manipulate _me_ when I'm not looking, do you, hon?"

Bernadette smiled fondly at him. "Oh, Howie, I would never do that to you. I love you. Besides," she added, "you're not that complicated. I manipulate you by controlling your access to sex."

"Which just for the record surprises exactly no one," said Penny. She sighed. "On the other hand, Ames, you realize that when you can get _Sheldon_ to be reasonable, it doesn't really leave any wiggle room for the rest of us, does it?" She turned to Lucy. "Okay, Lucy, what's your clothing size—five, six? I'll go see what I can dig up for you."

Raj touched her elbow. "Thank you, Penny," he said sincerely.

"Yeah, yeah," Penny grumbled. Ah, well, at least she'd be able to change her own clothes. If she never wore orange and green together again it'd be too soon, and these clothes were wrecked. "You know what? I think I'm gonna have a shower, too. See you guys in a minute."

She went across the hall, digging in her pockets, then stopped and closed her eyes. _Aw, crap._ Like her cellphone, her keys and her purse were somewhere back in that hospital. Her door sat in front of her, locked and blithely indifferent. For a moment she considered simply wrenching it open the way she'd done with the doors in the hospital . . . but no, dammit, no. This was _her home_. She shouldn't _need_ to break into her own home.

"Here," said a voice, startling her; she jumped, turned and saw Leonard, holding out the spare key she'd given him a long time ago. "Figured you'd need this; it was still in our bowl. Sheldon let us into our place when we escaped, but he can do it without breaking things. Or we could get Lucy to just walk in—or Amy, if she figures out how to borrow Lucy's power . . . ."

"No, no, I'll do it the old-fashioned way, I think." Penny took the key with a rueful smile. "Thanks." She opened the door, then paused, looked back at him and gave a little tilt of her head. "Hey. You want to come in?"

Leonard laughed wearily. "You think I'm ever going to say no to that question?" He followed her in and dropped onto her couch, rubbing his face. She sat down beside him, her hand finding his almost without thought. He looked down at their intertwined hands. "Mrs. Cooper was right, you know," he said after a moment. "You're an angel."

Penny snorted. "Yeah, and now I can even fly and kick ass like one. Maybe we can have our wedding in mid-air, if you wind up being able to fly too." She looked at him. "Leonard, can I ask you something? Does it bother you, that . . . that whatever happened to me, and Sheldon, and the others, that it hasn't happened to you?"

Leonard looked thoughtful, then did something she hadn't expected. He took off his glasses and held them out to her. "Look at these," he said. She took them, wondering why they felt so light, and then realized why. The lenses were gone. She gasped, running her fingers through the empty frames.

Leonard nodded. Without the glasses, his dark eyes were unexpectedly sharp and penetrating, with no hint at all of his usual myopic squint. "I don't know what's going on, but _something_ happened to me that day," he said. "And you know what? All my life, if you'd asked me what the coolest part of getting superpowers would have been, the first thing—the _first_ thing—I'd have told you is, 'Getting rid of my glasses.'" He paused, then smiled. "For most of my life, the second thing would have been, 'Being able to win a beautiful girl's love.' So if this is all I get out of this, then I'm happy. More than happy." He lifted her hand and brought it to his lips, kissing it, holding her eyes with his.

Penny swallowed. "So you're, you're not jealous? Or . . . scared of me, now?"

"Oh, God, Penny, the only thing I was _ever_ scared of was losing you." Leonard reached out and cupped her cheek with one hand. "You know, maybe you were right, back in May. Maybe I picked that moment to tell you about my screw-up because part of me just wanted to stop being scared of that, whatever it took. But when I saw you in that observation window, and I thought we were both about to die—" He stopped, clearly forcing himself to take a few steadying breaths, and wiped his hand across his eyes. Penny's own eyes blurred, reliable as clockwork. "Well," he resumed. "It, ah . . . clarified things. So, for me, this is it. No more doubt. No more excuses. I've loved you since the day we met, and the only thing I've ever wanted is to be your husband, and for you to be my wife. If that's what you still want, then let's do it. First chance we get."

She was impressed—he'd actually managed not to cry. Not that it was helping. She could barely see through her own tears, and gulped back a sob. "God, yes, Leonard, of course I do. You're not only the best friend I've ever had, you're the only person who's ever had the guts to be completely straight with me—even if you didn't do it right away, you did it. And maybe . . . maybe part of why I reacted so badly was that I was afraid of the same thing you were." She scrubbed at her face, needing a deep breath of her own. "But that was then. Right now, what I'm scared of more than anything else is . . . everything—everything that's happening. And knowing you're gonna be with me is just about the only thing helping me keep myself together. So yes. Yes, I will marry you. The first damn minute we can." She blinked her eyes into focus, then burst out laughing and jabbed him in the chest with her forefinger. "Aha! Got you, Hofstadter, I _knew_ you'd cry!"

Leonard laughed through his own tears, grabbed her face and brought her mouth to his. It wasn't long before the kisses turned heated, and Penny indulged herself by simply ripping off her bullet-torn top with one hand, leaving only her tattered bra. Leonard gulped. Penny leaned close, moistening her lips, and murmured in his ear, "We don't have a lot of time, and I do need that shower. You up for it?"

"Um, I think that is quite possibly the most literally accurate description of my physical state you've ever given," said Leonard, unbuttoning his shirt as quickly as possible. "And, uh, time is probably not going to be a concern—just to say. But if you don't mind, let me get my own clothes off. I don't want to have to go back and get new ones."

Penny gave him her best cat's smile, got up, and skinned out of her jeans, enjoying the way he gulped again to see it. "We should probably be quiet," she noted. "The gang might object if they know we're taking time out from the global crisis for a shower quickie."

"Oh, screw _them_ ," said Leonard. "But I'll keep quiet if you will, sweetheart."

Penny smirked. "No promises." She took his hand, pulled him to his feet, and drew him with her towards the bathroom.

1422 SOUTH CATALINA AVENUE, PASADENA, CA

6:25 P.M.

As part of her Quantico training, Angela Page had chosen one of the rarer—and generally unpublicized—options available: she'd undergone a controlled exposure program with several of the more common drugs used to facilitate sexual assault, including Rohypnol, GCB, and ketamine. Some agents who trained to do undercover work among sexual traffickers would go on full courses of those drugs in order to build up tolerance. Others, like Page, went through a shorter program so they could more easily recognize the symptoms in victims' descriptions, or help a victim make sense of her own reactions, and gain some practice in resisting the effects.

Of them all, the scariest, without a doubt, had been the Colombian drug known as _burundanga_ , a scopolamine-heavy plant extract that induced a hypnagogic state of extreme suggestibility. She had expected the feeling of bodily disconnection, as if she was only a passenger in her own skull; what had been truly frightening was how little that had seemed to matter at the time, and how easily her body had done what the testers suggested she do. Page hadn't even remembered what they'd suggested until, to her mortification, they'd played back the recording of her session afterwards and shown her clumsily dancing her way through an off-key rendition of "Hello My Baby, Hello My Honey, Hello My Ragtime Gal", like a five-year-old showing off for a family gathering.

What Emily Sweeney had done to her was terrifyingly like that in some ways, and—even more terrifyingly—completely unlike it in others. The disconnection felt a lot like the drug's, but there was none of the emotional distance: Page felt like she had been beating her fists bloody against a plexiglass wall, where she could see and understand everything her body was being made to do but was utterly unable to stop it. She had followed Sweeney's instructions to the letter, calmly commandeering the ambulance from its bemused paramedics and then driving it away from the hospital and into downtown Pasadena. Huddled in the back under a blanket, Sweeney had issued further instructions in an ever-hoarsening voice, as if she was struggling against some gradually increasing pain or illness. At last, Page had driven the ambulance into an underground parking lot beneath an apartment building, found a space near the elevators, and turned it off.

Behind her, Sweeney let out a relieved-sounding breath. And then something strange happened—for a moment, the plexiglass barrier around Page's brain seemed to thin. Without thinking about it, as if it was a normal part of the routine, Page pressed another button under the dashboard, then sat back and tried to forget about it.

A second later, the curtain dividing driver's cab from the medical bay behind shot back. His movements slow and clumsy, Kurt Winters pushed his way into the cab and sat down in the passenger seat, shaking his head. "Oh, man," he groaned, one hand to his temple. "I dunno what they shot me up with, but this is one mother-bitching hangover."

"Could be worse," said Sweeney, peering out from the accessway at the underground garage. She sounded less hoarse, but there was still a tightness around her eyes and in her jaws, as if she had a headache. "You could still be there. We probably won't have long—once they've figured out we're not at the hospital any more they'll come down on both your home and mine with everything they've got. We need to get money and we need to get off the grid."

Winters nodded slowly. "Yeah, okay, that makes sense. So what do we do with G-girl, here?" He elbowed Page, hard. Page had no choice but to ignore it. "Break her neck?"

"What? No!" Sweeney leant forward and glared at Winters. "First of all, we don't need to. Second, the last thing we need to do is add one more body to the trail—I've got enough to live with already. And third, I think she'll be a lot more use alive."

"Use? What kinda 'use' is she gonna be?"

"Well, for starters right now, I need to top up, and the alternatives are either we waste time on picking up a stranger—" Sweeney's voice hardened "—or I go after _you_. You feel like finding out how _that_ would go down?"

 _Top up?_ thought Page. A slow worm of dread began spiraling coldly through her guts.

"Point," said Winters at last. "And what else?"

"Well . . . ." Sweeney sounded a little less certain, but not enough that Page got any sense it would stop her. The worm of dread sped up in its coiling. "I'm still getting the hang of this, but I'm pretty sure I can make sure she doesn't remember any of this. And if I can make her forget this, then I think I can make her forget some other stuff too."

"Like what other stuff?" said Winters suspiciously. "Why do we need to bother?"

"Come on, Kurt." Sweeney's voice sounded halfway between humour, pain and anger. "Haven't you ever seen any old Hammer movies? Don't you know what a Renfield is?" A cold hand clamped on Page's shoulder; Sweeney's next words resonated in her ears like a gong struck in her skull, guts and groin. " **Agent Page, get up and come into the back with me, please. Now.** "

For the first time Page tried desperately _not_ to fight, to fall by herself ahead of time into the amnesia zone to which most date rape drugs took their victims. But the cage around her mind kept her will awake and aware as inflexibly as it kept that will powerless. Her screams of rage and terror went unheard by anybody except, perhaps, Sweeney herself, as the other woman made her sit down on Kurt's abandoned gurney, calmly unbutton the top two buttons of her blouse, and tilt her head back and to one side.

Yet the most horrendous thing of all was how good the pain felt, when it came.

6:37 P.M.

Page blinked herself slowly awake. The first thing she felt was an intense cold, a biting chill through her skin and her body that made her shiver hard; the next thing she realized was how weak she was, and how dizzy. She tried to push herself to her feet and for a few seconds simply could not find the strength anywhere in her. When at last she moved, the best she could do was roll slowly to hands and knees, and she held herself there for a minute, head dangling down, breathing slowly, staring at the concrete floor under her fingers. Her neck felt sore, as if she'd strained it somehow.

 _What happened?_ She forced her swaying mind backwards to the last memory she could find. She'd told Nick Anderson to focus on finding Hofstadter, Cooper, Wolowitz and Koothrappali . . . she'd talked with Dr. Foxworth ( _"Call me Glenn."_ —yes, she remembered that), she'd gotten herself a coffee, and . . . nothing. She distinctly remembered having the coffee in her hand, sipping it and thinking she shouldn't have put in quite so much sugar, and then . . . here. This cold concrete floor, on hands and knees next to—a vehicle of some type. What was it? She forced her head up by sheer willpower. An ambulance—from Huntington Memorial, the paint job said—in a public space in a parking garage. And somewhere in the distance, a sound. Getting closer.

Sirens.

They cut off a minute or two before the screech of braking tires on concrete announced the vehicles' actual arrival. Black Escalades and blue sedans veered into place, parking to create a perimeter, and armed men—some her agents, some Pasadena detectives—swung out with their weapons levelled. "Agent Page!" one of them called; not Anderson, one of their field agents—Morisco? Margenau? "Are you all right? We saw the LoJack GPS signal from this ambulance. What happened?"

Page would have liked to say, in hindsight, that she'd chosen her next action deliberately out of sheer impatience with answering questions. Unfortunately, there wasn't that much cool factor to it. The strength in her arms gave out, and she collapsed. Blinking hazily, the cold concrete floor sucking out what little heat remained to her, she watched her men running towards her while others went for the elevator up into the building, and wondered: would they see her as weak, now? The thought annoyed her, but in some distant, dreamy way.

It was only when they tried to put her back into the ambulance that Page woke up enough to struggle. She could not for the life of her think why. But the thought of going back into that vehicle filled her with the shrieking terror of a five-year-old, a child made by heartless parents to look in her own closet and prove there was no monster. They had to strap her down and sedate her to get the transfusion needle into her.

2311 LOS ROBLES AVENUE, ROOFTOP

6:40 P.M.

It was cramped in the stairwell with nine people standing and sitting in various places, but Howard, finally perhaps developing some proper sense of paranoia, had insisted everybody stay inside the door leading out to the roof until Mrs. Latham's helicopter landed, if it ever did. Bernadette tried to feel the same dread and nervousness she could see in the others, but it was oddly difficult. The sheer wonder of everything she could feel inside her kept overwhelming her; she felt as if with a moment's thought she could count her own blood cells, give names to all her gut bacteria. She knew exactly what happened when that surge of power had kicked in, following Penny's disastrous landing—every moment of cellular regeneration and tissue reconstruction was like a movie she could replay in her mind. And she could feel that power waiting still, inside her brain, like her whole nervous system had been plugged into the fusion-reactor core of the sun. She might very well now, part of her thought, be immortal. Or as close to immortal as any human being would want to be.

Howard peered outside and up at the sky again, then ducked back. "Nothing yet," he reported, and sank back against the wall, one arm around Bernadette's shoulders. She was unutterably proud of him. In all this chaos, he had never once lost his head and he had thought of almost nothing except her own welfare—hers and her child's. She wondered if that was part of it. The hormonal shifts of pregnancy often subtly altered personality, and the change was as often positive as negative; it was merely that the negative alterations got more press, by virtue of being better copy. He didn't seem even to be bothered by his own apparent lack of abilities, so far, though she suspected that was in part simply lack of time to think about it. Howard was at his best when he had a problem to solve or a gadget to build; it was boredom that tended to lead his mind down its most unproductive cul-de-sacs.

As if to prove her point, Howard sighed, lifted his other hand, screwed up his face in what looked like either concentration or constipation, and snapped his fingers. Nothing happened. He huffed in annoyance, pointed at the door, and screwed up his face again, straining in effort. Nothing continued to happen. Finally he dropped his hand and slumped, annoyed and disappointed. "Damn," he muttered.

"What were you trying to do?" said Bernadette.

"I don't know," Howard admitted. "Move something telekinetically, throw fire from my bare hands, make something disappear . . . just _something_ , you know? Doesn't seem fair that out of all of us it's just me who hasn't gotten _any_ improvement out of this mess."

"Hey, I haven't turned into the Hulk either," observed Leonard, looking up over his shoulder. He and Penny were sitting on the stairs at the bottom of the flight, supporting the still unconscious Mrs. Cooper between them. "Maybe you just need to get angry enough."

"Yeah, I'll wait 'til I'm in a big empty field to try testing that one," said Howard. "Seriously, Leonard, at least you got twenty-twenty vision without having to go through Lasik. So did Bernie."

Bernadette grinned and poked Howard's shoulder gently. "Well, who knows? Maybe your peanut allergy's finally gone. Maybe Leonard's lactose intolerance has cleared up along with his eyesight."

"Yeah, you might wanna wait 'til you're in a big empty field to test that one out too," Penny deadpanned. Leonard gave her an injured look. Penny smirked at him.

"Neuroplastic changes take a varying degree of time, Howard," said Amy. "If Sheldon is right—"

"Excuse me, 'if'?" Sheldon groused.

"—and these powers are created by stable fields of these particles, these oneirions, that have somehow got embedded in the brain's neural structure, then the effects of exposure are still going on for all of us, and for everybody affected. It's entirely possible that your talent simply hasn't finished developing yet, whatever it is, or that you haven't had the right stimulus to manifest it."

"So . . . what _would_ be the right stimulus?" said Howard.

Amy sighed and shrugged. "I have no idea, Howard, not without knowing what your power might be, and if we knew that we wouldn't need to find the stimulus. Just don't try jumping off a bridge to see if you can make yourself fly. That could have deleterious side effects."

"You know, it might not be so bad, not having any powers," said Raj. "The mundane sidekick is an ancient and honourable tradition. Alfred Pennyworth to Batman, Lois Lane to Superman, Detective Joe West to the Flash, Dr. Lee Rosen to the Alphas, and we all know Horn-Rimmed Glasses Guy was the most badass character on _Heroes_ . . . Oh dear." He suddenly looked upset. "I hope they're not going to cancel _The Flash_ or _Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D._ over this."

"Really?" said Penny. "Out of all our problems, _that's_ what bothers you?"

Raj folded his arms defensively. "Hey, if Marvel's pictures start flopping and their stock tanks, we could lose the whole company. The movies have been all that's keeping the comics alive for a while now. Thousands of people could be out of work, man. You don't know."

Bernadette turned to look at the door to the roof and got a nasty shock; Lucy had knelt in front of it and thrust herself halfway through, and all that remained visible was her lower half, bisected neatly a little above the waistline. A moment later, she pulled herself back in and looked around. "Guys," she said, "I think our ride's coming." She rubbed her arms as if chilly; Penny had lent her a purple T-shirt and beige khakis that were both a little large for her, and she looked even more lost and waiflike in them.

"You sure?" said Leonard. "Could be something from the press, or the police, or . . . ." He trailed off as the sound that had been growing louder for a few minutes suddenly became far more evident, a rumbling roar that got more and more thunderous. He had to raise his voice over it. "On the other hand, Lucy, you might be right. You mind phasing out and watching for us? You won't have to worry about getting hit by any gravel the rotors kick up."

Lucy gulped. "Uh, I'll try, but really loud noises make me nervous, and one thing I've noticed is, if I get nervous enough this, uh, _phasing_ thing kinda goes overboard. So if I'm not there when you come out, it's probably just 'cause I couldn't stop myself dropping through the floor, okay? Just wait for me to come back up." She turned, squared her shoulders, and stepped through the door without opening it.

Howard stared after her in fascination. Oddly, Bernadette felt absolutely no jealousy; it was a completely different look from the leer he might have given in his bachelor days. "God, I'd love to figure out how she does that!" he shouted; the roar of the rotors outside had become deafening. "Does she adjust the vibrational frequency of her constituent superstrings, or what?"

"Hey!" Raj raised a warning finger. "No plots to put my friend under a microscope, please!"

Howard looked back with a wry expression. "Buddy, I think we're _all_ going under a microscope sooner or later," he shouted back. "The question's only ever been who's gonna be on the other end of it."

A heavy _thud_ rattled the floor. The roar outside began to diminish in volume. Lucy's head and shoulders came through the door again; she beckoned them all, then disappeared back outside. Howard clambered to his feet, pulling Bernadette with him. "Okay, looks like they've landed! Let's go!" He opened the door, hunched against the wind that howled in and hurried out onto the roof. The others followed.

The helicopter, a white-and-blue executive transport, had indeed just managed to put down neatly on the available roofspace, which both impressed and unnerved Bernadette. Pilots that good didn't come cheap. Mrs. Latham was clearly pulling out all the stops. Then she got a closer look at the logo on the side, and a chill went through her. Sheldon's reluctance suddenly made a lot more sense. But it was too late to bring that up now.

A tall man in a black jacket and jeans had jumped down from the copter's side door, and was waving the group in one at a time; he looked Native American, with dark hair, deep-set dark eyes and a mournful, unsmiling face. As he passed, Raj gave him a distinctly disquieted look, which didn't make Bernadette feel any better either. She climbed in and found a place to sit; the chairs were covered in rich burgundy leather, the floor with white shag carpeting—the whole cabin gave the distinct air of a first-class flight compartment.

Leonard and Penny were the last in, carrying Mrs. Cooper between them. Howard got one of the seats tilted backward, and they lay her down. Howard glanced worriedly at Bernadette as he belted Mrs. Cooper in. "Hon, you're the closest thing we have to a medical doctor. She's been out of it for nearly an hour now. Should we be worried?"

Bernadette frowned. "Well, electroshock's really only dangerous to people with prior health conditions. Sheldon, do you know if your mom's got any history of heart disease, or high blood pressure?"

Sheldon shook his head. "Not that I'm aware of. But . . . there have been other things she hasn't told me, recently." He exchanged a glance with Howard. Bernadette wondered what had happened on the Texas trip they'd taken together, a year or two ago; unusually for him, Howard had never been particularly forthcoming about it. "If her health has declined in a way that isn't obvious, I'm . . . not as confident as I once was that she would have told me of it."

"Everybody ready?" said the dark-haired man, leaning in. He didn't wait for an answer, though, merely flicking his eyes around and nodding to himself; then he stepped back and slammed the compartment's door shut. A few moments later, the engine began to ramp up again, though within the insulated cabin the noise wasn't much worse than a loud lawnmower next door. The cabin rocked, then stabilized, and outside Bernadette could see the buildings and the ground dropping away. Lucy gulped, and clung to Raj; without even seeming to think about it Raj put his arm around her. Bernadette snorted to herself. _Your "friend," Raj. Yeah, right,_ she thought.

"Leonard, I think you know how much I hate being a wet blanket—" Amy began.

"Oh, yes, we all know that," said Leonard. "Especially the Indiana Jones fans among us," he added in a lower voice.

"—but are you really sure this is a good idea? Do you know, for starters, exactly where we're going?"

Leonard shrugged. "I'd assumed Mrs. Latham's place, somehow—she has a penthouse condo downtown—or maybe the airport, or . . . ." He trailed off.

"So in other words, you don't," Amy finished.

Leonard threw up his hands. "Okay, fine, no, I don't know exactly. But this was the best option I could think of. Have you got a better idea?"

Amy shook her head. "If I had one I would have brought it up at the time. I just want to make sure we're all aware of the possible pitfalls here. If we have to fight our way out again, being ready for it in advance would be a nice change."

Bernadette decided that was as good a line as any to take for her cue. "And it might be a good idea to think about some of those pitfalls. Did any of you see the logo on this helicopter? The big L.I. inside the upside-down triangle?"

"For Latham Industries?" Surprisingly, it was Sheldon who spoke. "Oh yes, I saw it. Why do you think I objected when I did?" When Leonard looked blankly at him, Sheldon's brows drew down. "Or did you honestly think the alliterative similarity was the only parallel I was drawing with Lex Luthor, Leonard? Do you really think I'm bothered _that_ much by pettifogging details?"

Leonard was saved from having to reply by Penny. "Wait, wait, wait," she said, waving her hands. "Bernadette, are you saying this chick is some kind of supervillain?!"

"Not . . . that anybody's proven. Legally," Bernadette admitted. "But I hear a lot through the Zangen grapevine about some of the shenanigans Latham Industries gets up to, and it didn't stop when Leonard Latham died—" She broke off at Leonard's expression, and at the horrified looks on the faces of Raj and Howard. "Oh my God, you didn't know her husband's name, either?! For God's sake, do you guys read _any_ news outside the comic strips?!"

Leonard swallowed. "Oh, God, and to think I was sure that memory couldn't _possibly_ be any more disturbing," he mumbled. Then he frowned, and turned to face Sheldon. "Wait a moment. Did _you_ know? About Latham Industries, Mr. Latham, all of it?"

Sheldon shrugged. "Of course. I found it all out when I was researching her, to help you land our funding."

"Then why," said Leonard through gritted teeth, "didn't you _tell_ me any of this?!"

Sheldon blinked. "Because we needed a new cryogenic centrifugal pump, and I didn't want you distracted from your erotic activities. My research indicates a split attention predicts poor results in that field of endeavor."

Leonard stared at him, then turned to Penny as if seeking help. Penny bit her lip and eventually gave a small shrug. "He's not wrong," she said.

Abruptly Raj put his hand to his head, scowling. "Uh-oh," he said, and looked around at the cabin. "Hey, guys, remember when I tuned in on Penny, when she was incoming?" Off their various nods, he lowered his hand, looking grim. "Because I think I'm just tuning in on some other people incoming . . . and they are very not happy with us."

As if on cue, the door to the pilot's compartment slid back. The dark-haired man in the pilot's seat turned to look back over his shoulder. "Excuse me," he called. "Is one of you called Carmichaels?"

Penny looked alarmed. Leonard looked scarcely less so. "Uh, yeah, that's me," said Penny. "Um—why?"

"Because the FBI is ordering us to land or they'll force us down," said the dark-haired man, sounding as if this was an everyday occurrence for him. Bernadette gasped, and she, Lucy and Howard sprang to the windows. Within seconds they'd located the two black helicopters following at close distance like sharks scenting chum, their paint gleaming in the early evening sunset light. On both, the long black cylindrical muzzles of machine guns seemed to reach out for them, like serpents' tongues.

"Now I don't have any choice but to comply," the pilot went on, "since Latham Industries is scrupulous about cooperating with law enforcement whenever requested. But if somehow those FBI copters were to experience a catastrophic malfunction, by the time they could send somebody else after us, we'd be on Latham Industries property, where they'd need a hell of a lot more than a simple search warrant to get past _our_ lawyers. If only we had somebody capable of taking them on in the air, somebody who wasn't yet an official Latham Industries employee." The pilot looked straight ahead with a blank expression. "Oh. Wait."

"What? No!" Penny looked outraged. "Look, I don't want to go to jail any more than anybody else, but I'm not gonna try to crash FBI helicopters! I don't want to get anybody killed!"

"You wouldn't need to crash them," said Howard abruptly. "If you cut the fuel lines, as long as you don't damage the motors they'd have enough time to land safely." He looked out the window again. "Those copters are Sikorsky UH-60 Blackhawks; the main fuel lines run under the roof, just beneath the main rotors. Take the guns out, punch holes in the lines, easy-peasy." He shrugged.

Penny stared at him. " _'Easy-peasy'?!_ " she repeated. "Are you _high?_ "

"No," said Howard. "Just desperate. And not in the way you always used to call me desperate, either."

"Yeah, well, we're not _that_ desperate," said Leonard. "Absolutely not. Penny, you don't have to do this. Sir," he raised his voice to the pilot, "tell Mrs. Latham we appreciate her help, but I really think you should do what the FBI—"

" _Wait,_ " said Penny. "Wait. Howard, you're sure cutting the fuel lines will give them enough time to set down safely?"

Howard looked abruptly uncomfortable. "Um . . . pretty sure. Like—eighty-five percent. Well, eighty."

"Of course." Penny sighed. She looked around at all of them again, then leaned over to Leonard and kissed him, hard. When they separated, leaving him blinking, she got up and went to the side door of the cabin. "Just in case this doesn't work," she said, "tell the pilot to be ready to call 911."

Without hesitating, she opened the side door. The roar of the engines and the wind howled in simultaneously, plastering them all flat against their seats, knocking Mary Cooper awake with a yell of fright. Penny braced herself in the open doorway, and paused for one last look back at Leonard, who returned it with a heartsick glaze in his eyes.

Then she flung herself out into open air.


	7. Chapter 7

THE METAHUMAN TRANSFIGURATION

 **Description:** The gang gets superpowers. It's not as cool as some of them always thought. Alternate Season 9 premiere.

 **Notes:** Thanks again to the reviewers! Rest assured that I will eventually, and quite soon, reveal what Howard and Leonard have gained from their experience. For further points of interest, for those who have ever seen the show _Corner Gas_ , I have been envisioning the pilot in this story to be played by the Canadian actor Lorne Cardinal—and if anyone is interested in listening to backing music, this chapter was largely written to the accompaniment of the tracks "No Time for Caution," and "Detach," from Hans Zimmer's wonderful soundtrack for the movie _Interstellar_. Finally, as always, elements of reality have been selectively ignored for the sake of drama—in this case, Pasadena geography. Also, stuff like this should go without saying, but in real life no one should EVER attempt to pilot an actual aerial vehicle based solely on experience in a flight simulator.

 **Disclaimer:** The author does not own THE BIG BANG THEORY or any of the characters. The excerpted conversation quoted in this chapter comes from Episode 2 of Season 1, "The Big Bran Hypothesis", story by Chuck Lorre  & Bill Prady and teleplay by Robert Cohen & Dave Goetsch.

\- 7 -

PASADENA AIRSPACE

THURSDAY, AUGUST 27, 2015, 6:54 P.M.

For half a second, Penny plunged sickeningly downward before her instinct found the mental trick of her old dream, and she swung her legs around and decelerated with the ease of a diver braking herself in water. She looked up, trying to find the black FBI copters, and just barely flung herself out of the way before another body plunged past her, screaming in terror so acute it was like razors on her ears. A second later she realized who the falling body had been.

" _AMY!_ " she shrieked at the top of her lungs, and dove.

Her panic was a rocket's thrust, driving her downwards faster than gravity. Amy's flailing form grew in her vision, as did the unforgiving cityscape of Pasadena, roaring ever upwards, closer and closer. Invulnerability to bullets and blows was one thing; Penny had absolutely no desire to find out if she could survive ground impact at this speed. She sighted in on Amy, reaching out. And weirdly, the thought that came to her was a conversation she'd had with the guys, long ago, just after they'd met:

" _I do like the one where Lois Lane falls from the helicopter and Superman swooshes down and catches her, which one was that?"_

" _One," Leonard, Sheldon and Howard all said together. Even Raj raised his forefinger helpfully._

" _You realize that scene was rife with scientific inaccuracy," said Sheldon disapprovingly._

 _Penny smiled. "Yes, I know," she said, "men can't fly." Honestly, she knew she wasn't as smart as any of these guys, but they didn't think she was a_ total _airhead, did they?_

" _Oh no, let's assume that they can," said Sheldon, startling her. "Lois Lane is falling, accelerating at an initial rate of thirty-two feet per second per second. Superman swoops down to save her by reaching out two arms of steel. Miss Lane, who is now travelling at approximately one hundred and twenty miles per hour, hits them and is immediately sliced into three equal pieces."_

" _Unless," Leonard interrupted, "Superman matches her speed and decelerates."_

" _In what space, sir, in what space? Frankly, if he really loved her, he'd let her hit the pavement. It would be a more merciful death."_

Penny would never be able to match Sheldon's or even Leonard's gift for calculating numbers in their head. But she'd spent her childhood playing baseball with her dad, and knew darn well how to track the path of something falling and how to guess the time left to catch it. She matched her path to Amy's, slid in beside the other woman, slapped one arm around her waist and threw everything she could into pulling their plummeting arc upwards and around. The city hurtled up at them like an oncoming train.

For a few nauseating seconds, she thought they weren't going to make it. The G-force of the turn felt like a massive weight crushing her back; her vision blurred, then seemed to shrink inwards, tunnelling down to a circle like an old-fashioned movie cut. The buildings, cars and traffic lights of downtown Pasadena shot towards them, then by them, as Penny and Amy rocketed down the street like a guided missile. Half-drunk with G-force, Penny thought for a moment she could reach down and touch the traffic with her free hand. And then their arc was bending upwards, upwards, the city falling away once again, and as Penny's vision cleared and the force of the turn eased she was able to draw a great whooping breath. Hundreds of feet above the ground, she brought them to a stop, and got her other arm around Amy's chest, holding her up. She could feel Amy's heartbeat hammering under her arm.

" _What—the—hell, Ames?_ " she bellowed, into Amy's ear.

Amy flinched from the yell. Amazingly, her glasses were still on. "I'm _sorry!_ " she cried. "I thought I could help! I copied your power back at Mrs. Cooper's, I thought—I thought—" Her hitching gasps gave way to sobs, terror and relief overwhelming her; she clung to Penny's arms like a toddler woken from a nightmare. Penny almost broke into sobs herself, but mastered them with a great shudder. There wasn't time.

"Okay—okay, Ames, look, it's all right, it's fine," she finally said. "We know something now; we know you can't just copy someone and do what they do right away, you have to figure out _how_. When you copied Sheldon's trick to get to his mom's house, how did you do it?"

"I, uh . . . ." Amy snorfled loudly and scrubbed at her nose. "I was . . . I was able to see the traces of what he'd done, and put it back together. I could read the patterns somehow. Like I'd read an EEG, or analyze a dissected brain."

"Okay, good, good. So—here, let me move you 'round—" Awkwardly, Penny managed to get Amy turned in her grip until they were practically nose-to-nose. Amy's face still being tear-stained and snotty from her weeping, it wasn't the prettiest sight, but Penny ignored it. "Okay. The trick I use, I always had dreams about flying when I was a kid. I remember that dream, I remember the way it felt, and . . . ." She willed herself upwards, and they both rose, moving higher and higher. "Are you, like, seeing anything around me that's making sense?"

Amy shook her head helplessly. "No. I'm sorry, but no."

"Shit," Penny muttered. "Okay, um—" The only thought that came to her felt incredibly stupid, but why not? It wasn't like she had any other options. "How about this? What's the happiest memory you have, Amy? The absolute best moment of your life. Ever."

Amy stared at her. Then she looked away, as if she couldn't bear to meet Penny's eyes. "When Sheldon said he loved me," she said, so quietly it was almost a whisper.

 _Sheldon said WHAT?!_ Penny almost let go of Amy and only caught herself at the last second. "Okay, maybe not that one, that's got too much conflict tied up with it right now, um—" Then it came to her. "All right: close your eyes, and think about the time you kissed. On the train, the one you told me about. Just go back to that in your head and remember that feeling. As intensely as you can . . . ." She paused a second, then moved very slowly and carefully, still talking. "Remember how it felt, in your mouth, your head, everywhere else. The way your heart sped up, the way your skin tingled, the way it felt . . . um, elsewhere . . . ." She cleared her throat. "Okay, Amy. Open your eyes."

Amy did. For a moment, she stared at Penny uncomprehendingly. Then Penny saw in her eyes the twin realizations slamming home: that Penny had let her go, and that they were both floating in mid-air some two yards apart. Suddenly Amy dropped in the air a few yards—Penny gave a shriek—but then she stopped, seeming to bob back upwards, like an empty plastic bag caught in an updraft. A huge grin spread slowly over her face; she twirled in mid-air, arms out, her cardigan belling out from her. "Oh my God," she said. "Oh my God, oh my God, oh my _God!_ " Without warning, she flung up her arms and shot skywards, the breeze of her slipstream blowing Penny backwards. " _Come on, bestie, catch me if you can!_ " her cry came back.

Penny shook her head, not sure if she wanted to laugh or groan in frustration, but threw her arms forward and rocketed after Amy. She caught up, matched her speed, then raised her voice to yell at the top of her lungs. " _Amy!_ " she shouted. "Remember? The copters? We came out here to do something?"

Amy looked abruptly sheepish. "Oh, right!" she shouted back. "Um—where are they?"

Penny revolved in mid-air and blinked. "Ah, well, one of them's all the way over there, following the guys," she called. "The other one, uh . . . ." She let herself trail off, waiting for the rising roar to finish her point for her. Amy spun about, then jolted back in shock as the black copter roared towards them and pulled up maybe fifteen yards away, the thunder and wind of its rotors shoving hard against them. Amy held her glasses on her face with both hands while Penny shielded her eyes with her forearm.

"MISS CARMICHAELS. DR. FOWLER." The voice over the helicopter's crowd-control loudspeaker boomed at them like a blow. "BY ORDER OF THE UNITED STATES GOVERNMENT YOU ARE REQUESTED TO RETURN TO THE GROUND AND TURN YOURSELF IN TO THE F.B.I. FAILURE TO COMPLY WITH THIS REQUEST WILL BE TAKEN AS RESISTING ARREST AND WILL BE MET WITH APPROPRIATE FORCE. THIS IS YOUR LAST WARNING."

Penny and Amy looked at each other. Then back at the helicopter. "Screw _that,_ " they both said together, and shot forwards straight at the copter's nose.

6:56 P.M.

" _Ow!"_ Howard yelled. "Holy Jehoshaphat, they both just ripped off that thing's machine guns like they were made of plasticine! Wow!" He ducked back from the copter's window as if dodging a blow, then looked back out. "Now they've grabbed onto the sides—oh my God, the side door's opening, it looks like somebody's leaning out trying to shoot at them— _oh!_ Wow! Penny just haymakered him back inside. Amy's climbing up the other side—yeah, yeah, that's it Amy, right there— _bam!_ Holy guacamole, fist straight through aerospace-grade steel like it was cardboard! There it goes—I can see the fuel trailing from it. Oh, man, that's a gusher. Come on, girls, get out of there—yep, there they go. And there it goes, the chopper's making for the ground. I give them two minutes of flight time."

Bernadette held on tight to his arms, unable to look. Sheldon seemed even worse off—when Amy had flung herself after Penny out the door, he had actually _screamed aloud_ and then collapsed into himself, hiding his head in his arms like a kid whose parents were fighting. Mary had made her way over to him and was holding him tightly, but seemed unable to do much more. Leonard and Raj had together wrestled the door shut, after which Leonard had pinned himself to the window just as Howard had, but hadn't said a word since. He looked like he might throw up any second. Bernadette very much hoped he wouldn't, as she was unsure she'd be able to keep her own cookies down if he did—

 _No, no,_ the thought came to her, _you actually probably could, if you wanted to. You know how nausea's manufactured, it would be very simple just to turn those signals and nervous impulses off as long as you needed._ She swallowed. For some reason that scared her more than what was happening right now.

The pilot looked back into the main cabin. "You folks might want to hear this," he told them, and snapped a switch on his dashboard. Instantly a voice came over hidden speakers in the cabin, loud, angry, strident and scared: "— _are_ ordered _to call Carmichaels and Fowler back to your vehicle! Now! By order of the FBI and the United States Government!_ "

The pilot clicked a button. "FBI chopper Bravo-Delta three-niner-niner-six," he said, sounding bored, "this is a private flight operating by personal charter, and we have no authority over people not currently aboard our vehicle who are not employees of Latham Industries. We also have no means of currently contacting the named individuals anyway. Unless you can cite a specific charge, provide a warrant or cite the authority of the Federal Aviation Administration, we will continue en route to our destination as provided to local air control. We strongly recommend you contact your local FAA office for that information." He clicked off, glanced back and grinned at them. "Who says bureaucracy has no strong points?"

" _Private flight Lima India zero zero one three, if you do not comply with our directions we will have no choice but to force you down by any means necessary!_ " The copter began to judder as the FBI vehicle loomed in above them, its slipstream buffeting their own craft. Bernadette clutched more tightly to Howard, barely managing not to whimper. Maybe she might survive a crash, now; she rather doubted Howard would. Or their baby.

The pilot glanced out the window, nodded thoughtfully, then clicked a switch. "FBI chopper Bravo-Delta three-niner-niner-six," he said, "be advised that the individuals Carmichaels and Fowler are approaching your flank at top speed, and we have no control over their actions."

At that, Bernadette couldn't restrain herself any more. She twisted around and straightened up, pressing her face to the window. The FBI chopper held still, bare yards away, for a long, agonizing second. Beyond it Bernadette could see two specks in the air, coming closer and closer, growing every moment until she could make out Penny's blond hair and Amy's cardigan.

Then, abruptly, the FBI copter dipped, banked away, and shot straight at Penny and Amy, its tail rotor tilting high and its main rotor roaring forward like a blender set to _frappé_. Bernadette had only a second to realize what the FBI pilot was trying to do, maybe half that time to see Penny and Amy suddenly recoil and curl up, their own movement too close and too fast to avoid it, and no time at all to do more than suck in a breath to scream.

The FBI copter's main rotor struck Penny and Amy head on—and shattered.

A rain of shards of razor-sharp steel engulfed the Latham helicopter, clattering like metal hail. One sliver punched all the way through the hull, flashed straight past Bernadette's blinking eyes and burst a window on the cabin's other side on its way out. Mary and Lucy both screamed. The pilot yelled a vicious oath and banked sharply away, dropping fast. Alarms began to sound from the console, and he shut them off one by one. "Okay, folks," he called back, "enough fucking around. We're going straight for our destination, fast as possible!"

"No!" Leonard shouted. "The girls, we have to wait for the girls!"

"Sorry, Dr. Hofstadter," said the pilot flatly. "I know you people can probably do all sorts of terrible things to me, but we've sustained damage and I don't know how much flight time we have left. If Fowler and Carmichaels can't find their own way back—"

He vanished. The headphones he'd been wearing dropped to the seat. Sheldon clambered past Leonard, dropped into the pilot's seat, picked them up and put them on. Leonard stared at him. " _Sheldon!_ " he yelled. "What the _hell_ did you just _do?_ "

"Teleported him to the comic book store," said Sheldon.

"Why?!"

"First place I thought of that wasn't somebody's home," said Sheldon. "I mean, come on, Leonard, I'm not going to dump a total stranger into somebody's living room. That's just rude."

"No, Sheldon, I mean why would you teleport our _pilot_ _anywhere?!_ " Leonard's voice was halfway between bellow and scream.

"I didn't like his priorities. Thankfully this console's a pretty well-known patch in the flight simulator _Apache_." He took the controls in his hands, adjusted his grip, then moved; the copter banked back in the other direction. Sheldon nodded in satisfaction. "Yep. Textbook. Remind me to thank ChopperChamp216 for the accuracy of his reproduction."

Leonard stared at him. "Wait a minute. Are you telling me you know the simulator well enough to fly a goddamned _helicopter_ . . . and yet you still can't learn to fricking _drive?!_ "

Sheldon gave him an impatient look. "Driving involves too many distractions for something that's just a convenience. This is about Amy." He patted the co-pilot's seat. "Now get up here so you can navigate for me, Leonard. We still have to go pick them up."

Leonard lifted his hands, let them fall, and climbed into the cabin. Howard and Raj stared after him, then both turned to Bernadette. She shrugged. "Don't look at _me_."

6:57 P.M.

The impact of the copter's rotor had knocked Penny spinning, but she pulled herself out of it fast when she realized it hadn't actually hurt. A second later, she and Amy were staring down at the black helicopter as it plunged towards the ground, spiraling around itself on the broken rotors. The blue-and-white Latham copter was banking away, smoke coming from it, but seemed to be keeping itself aloft for the moment. That was all Penny waited to see before she dove. The air split in a shriek she could hear as Amy dove after her.

They came down together on opposite sides of the plummeting chopper; Penny got herself under one of the stubby wings on one side, planted herself against the metal and thrust upwards with all her force. The spin slowed. Once again, she could see the city coming towards her with dismaying speed; slower this time, but that only gave her longer to watch it approach. Now she could feel the weight of the thing against her shoulders, gravity and mass pressing together down on her in an ever-greater force. She cast around desperately for something like a safe landing zone, and saw one off to her left: a parking lot, all but empty, with more than enough room for the copter. _"Amy!"_ she bellowed as loudly as she could. " _On our left, ten o'clock! The parking lot by the McDonald's! We're setting down there!_ "

She had half a second to wonder if Amy had heard her; then she felt the momentum of the copter shift, and let out a breath of relief. They were less than two hundred feet from the ground now, she guessed, and coming in hard. The parking lot rushed towards them. Horns and screeches echoed up from the street below, and little flickers of light that she realized were camera flashes. She wanted to laugh. Typical. Californians would take selfies while the tidal wave from the Big One was coming in.

Fifty feet. Forty feet. Thirty. With a last panicked realization, Penny kicked off her shoes and hoped that her invulnerability extended to her feet. Twenty. Ten. Five. _Down_ — They struck hard, screeching along the asphalt, knocking at least one car spinning out of the way. Penny winced, her feet grinding against the asphalt as she braked with all her strength. The copter spun slowly around on its axis, driven by the last movements of its tail rotor. Sparks flew everywhere. And then at last the copter stopped. Penny wasted no time, only leaping up, punching her fists in through the hull and ripping. "Go!" she yelled as she tore open the hull. "Everybody, go, get out of here, before something explodes!"

Men in dark uniforms tumbled through the gap past her, jumping out of the copter, running to gather together on the asphalt. Some of them glared at her, but before any of them could act a crowd rushed up, phone cameras going off in a hailstorm of flashes. Penny shielded her eyes as a babble of questions poured over her. In desperation she shouted as loudly as she could, " _Everybody, please, SHUT UP!_ "

Amazingly, that worked. In the silence, Amy suddenly lofted her way over the copter from the other side, touching down next to Penny. At the sight everyone gasped; the cameras and cellphones started going off again. Penny rolled her eyes. "People," Amy yelled, pointing at the dark-uniformed men, "these gentlemen are from the FBI, they'll tell you everything you need to know; please cooperate with them. Right now you just need to move back, this area is not safe. Okay?"

"Wait a minute!" yelled a girl in the front row of the onlookers. "Who _are_ you two?"

"Aw, jeez." Penny covered her eyes. "Look, that doesn't matter. Just call us guardian angels, okay? Bye!" She grabbed Amy under the arm and leapt skyward, the two of them hurtling upwards into the reddening twilight.

Amy grinned, looking back at the city as it shrank away. "Wow. So this is what playing superhero is like. You know, I think maybe we've been too hard on the guys. I think I see why they liked reading about this kind of thing so much."

Penny had to grin back. "Yeah, I guess, but come on—did you ever expect to be proven wrong like this? Not to mention," she added after a second, "that if I ever do anything that makes the sound ' _Brackadoom!_ ', I'm retiring." She looked around. "Come on, Ames—we gotta find our ride."

7:09 P.M.

Raj and Howard slid the side door open, bracing themselves against the wind until Penny and Amy had both squirmed back inside the helicopter, then slammed it shut at the earliest moment they could. Before either woman could move Raj had grabbed them both in a strangling embrace; relief, joy and fury burst off him in a wave, and Penny suddenly found herself sobbing out all the tears she'd managed to hold back during the aerial action. Amy, too, was weeping again, and after a moment Penny realized everybody in the cabin had burst into tears as well—even Howard, who looked flummoxed at himself. Between sobs, she choked out something that was half laugh, half yell. " _Raj!_ Ease _up_ , willya?!"

"Oh—oh my. Sorry." Raj let them go and swiped at his face, and the overwhelming surge of emotion vanished. Then he suddenly looked furious again. "No, wait, I'm _not_ sorry! Well, I'm sorry I hit you all with that, but I am still pissed as all heck with the both of you! You scared the _crap_ out of all of us! Am I right?!" He turned to the cabin at large.

Howard cleared his throat. "I, uh, I actually thought it was kind of awesome," he said sheepishly. He wilted at Raj's glare. "Well, come on, it _was._ "

"It was indeed," agreed Mary, surprisingly. She got up, took Amy by the shoulders, smiled warmly at her—and then slapped her sharply across the face. Raj, Bernadette and Lucy all gasped. Penny's eyebrows went up. "But you listen to me, young lady, I haven't given up hope of welcoming you into my family, and if you _ever_ do something like that again without warning me, well, I won't be happy at all, I'll tell you." Mary glared right into Amy's eyes. "Are we clear?"

Amy stared at her, bewildered; from the lack of red mark on her face, Penny guessed that if the blow had hurt at all it had done so for a fraction of a second at most, but it wasn't the physical pain which mattered. "I—all right, Mrs. Cooper. Next time I'll say something first." She swallowed. "I promise."

Mary pointed at her. "And I'm gonna hold you to that, Dr. Fowler." She looked through the doorway into the cockpit at the back of the pilot's head. "Shelley? You got anything you want to say?"

 _Shelley?_ Penny looked closer. Holy crap—that _was_ Sheldon! "Wait a minute!" she burst out. "What the hell happened to the pilot?!"

"He's Stuart's problem now," said Leonard, turning around from his seat in the co-pilot's chair. "Just be grateful the people who make flight simulator games are so anal-retentive about getting details right." He glanced at Amy, then Sheldon, and unbuckled himself. "Sheldon, I think we can spare a few minutes here. I'll be back. Amy?" He stepped out of the cockpit into the passenger cabin, and gestured back behind him at the empty seat.

Slowly, Amy climbed through and sat down. Leonard nodded at her, then pulled the door shut, cutting off any sound. Before he could do anything else Penny had thrown herself at him, and then there was nothing for an all-too-short time but the taste of his mouth and the feel of his arms around her. Finally they separated, leaning their foreheads against one another.

"I'm sorry I scared you," Penny murmured.

Leonard stiffened defensively. "I wasn't _scared_ ," he said. Then he snickered, almost reluctantly. "I was _terrified_. This is not exactly the safest way to test your limits."

"No, I guess it isn't," Penny agreed. "But you know something? I'm glad I did. We saved some lives down there. And like Amy said . . . I'm beginning to see why you love comics. This stuff's addictive, isn't it?"

Leonard chuckled. "It is, kinda. But I'm hoping we can skip having to take another hit for a while." He found an empty seat and sat down, pulling her down to nestle on his lap. It was awkward—Penny was a big girl and Leonard was not a large man—but she snuggled into him anyway, ducking her head down to lay it on his shoulder.

Then she realized something, and looked down at herself. "Aw, _crap_ ," she cursed. "Not _again._ " Leonard looked at her inquiringly, and she gestured at her clothes. Her T-shirt and jeans had been shredded by the rotor impact, torn up and down like they'd been through a thresher. She glared at Leonard as he audibly choked back a laugh. "It's not _funny!_ I liked these jeans!" She folded her arms, glowering. "Man, nobody ever told me being a superhero was so tough on the fashion budget."

7:10 P.M.

The seconds had trickled past in silence while Sheldon flew the helicopter, enough time for Amy to realize that her cardigan was absolutely wrecked; for lack of anything else to do, she took it off and dropped it to the cockpit's floor. At least it had been one of her oldest. She hadn't paid much attention to clothes over the summer she and Sheldon had been separated.

At length, she cleared her throat. "I'm sorry for whatever distress I may have caused," he said. "But I'm not sorry for trying to do the right thing and help. If you want to chew me out for that, go ahead."

"I have no intention of 'chewing' anybody 'out'," said Sheldon, his tone even more devoid of affect than usual. "I haven't the concentration or the time to spare at the moment. The simulators aren't usually this detailed above the effect of damage on a craft; I think we may have holed a fuel line, or possibly a transmission line. All I wanted to do," he went on, without changing tone, "is to point out the immense hypocrisy of criticizing me for not thinking enough about how my actions will make people feel, and then going off to risk your life without, apparently, thinking at all about how your actions will make _me_ feel. I mean, you do see the inconsistency there, yes?"

At another time, Amy knew, this might have made her angry. But for all the thrill of the fight and its eventual conclusion, those terrifying moments of falling, before Penny had caught her and taught her how to _use_ the power she'd so thoughtlessly copied, were still fresh enough to remember effortlessly. If Penny had been just a little less quick to react, or missed her catch, or bungled that fantastic pull-up and smashed them both into a building, what might have happened? Mrs. Cooper's slap still tingled in her memory, if not on her skin. So she only looked down at her lap. "You're right, Sheldon," she said. "I didn't think about how it would make you feel. I'm sorry."

He glanced at her sidelong, half wary, half bemused, clearly not expecting her sudden lack of protest. After a moment, he opened his mouth. She cut him off. "How _did_ it make you feel?"

"I don't think that's relevant to the point," he said stiffly.

"Maybe not. But I would please like to know. If we are to renew our relationship with a view to increased emotional honesty, I think it only makes sense."

Another few moments went by. Amy was about to get up and go back to the passenger cabin when Sheldon surprised her. "Sick," he said. "It made me feel sick. Physically and emotionally ill. To have effected what reconciliation we have, only to lose you—it . . . ." The pause was the longest one she'd ever heard from him. "It offends the order of things," he finished at last. "Like violating a universal constant."

Amy had to swallow. She knew what Sheldon's need for order meant to him. That was all she'd needed to hear. "I love you too, Sheldon."

He gave no outward reaction. But after a moment, she saw the imperceptible shifts of posture and focus that signaled his relief; it was as if he had sat down on his spot after a long time away. "I think we need to get Leonard back in here," he said, paused, then added more carefully, "If you don't mind, Amy. It's just that I need him to navigate."

She nodded. "Of course." She got up, slid past him and was about to open the cabin door when, to her surprise and delight, he suddenly grabbed her hand. Looking up at her, their eyes locked, and he kissed the back of her hand. For a moment Amy thought her knees might give way.

Then he let go and nodded. "You'll want to sterilize that, no doubt," he said, and pulled out a small plastic pouch from his shirt pocket. "Handi-Wipe," he said, handing it to her. "For you."

She wanted to laugh, and sat firmly on the impulse, knowing it would either go over his head, or worse, make him misinterpret it. "Thank you," was all she said.

1645 ORLANDO ROAD, PASADENA, CA

7:32 P.M.

The in-flight computer had proven easy enough to navigate, once Leonard had found the main menu controls. Sheldon had, of course, memorized the addresses of Mrs. Latham's key properties back when he'd researched her, and true to his eidetic brain had never forgotten them since. It didn't take much time to figure out which of her Pasadena properties was the only one with enough room, and far enough away from the downtown core, to support a private helipad. Following Leonard's guidance, Sheldon took them down towards a rolling, wooded property surrounding a massive mansion; at the back, near the edge of the lot, a flat granite square with a huge yellow H waited.

Whether it was because landing was the one part of the flight simulation game Sheldon hadn't practiced much, or whether it was because the damage had finally gotten to the engine—and the engine sounded bad enough that that might plausibly have been the case—they touched down harder than might have been advisable, with a teeth-rattling _thud_ and an unpleasant-sounding _crunch_ from somewhere in the rear of the craft. Yells came from the passenger cabin. Sheldon shut everything down as fast as he could, looking paler than was his wont. "Sorry," he said.

"I think Mrs. Latham's insurance is probably good enough to handle that," Leonard said, squinting out the window. A small group of people were marching towards the helipad, and Leonard was pretty sure he recognized the one in the lead. He gulped. "Oh, boy. Here we go."

As they disembarked from the craft, Leonard was proven correct; the first figure up the stairs from the back lawn and onto the helipad proper was Mrs. Latham herself, a tablet cradled in one arm. "Hello, Leonard," she waved cheerfully. "Dr. Cooper. Hello, everyone. Dr. Cooper," she went on without pausing, "why did you send Mr. Rassiter to a comic book store in downtown Pasadena?"

Sheldon still looked pale, but drew himself up with some dignity. "If the former pilot of this vehicle told you where he was, then I've no doubt he told you why I sent him away. Are you testing me to see if I will attempt to conceal that from you?"

"Actually, yes." Mrs. Latham looked pleasantly surprised. "I wouldn't have thought you capable of that degree of psychological perception, Sheldon. You've improved over the past few years. Still the germaphobe?" She didn't give him time to answer, instead moving to Penny, who reflexively drew back closer to Leonard. "And you, young lady, I have to congratulate you. _Brilliant_ public relations move."

Penny blinked. "I'm sorry, what?"

Mrs. Latham nodded in comprehension. "Yes, of course, you haven't seen it yet. The news channels have been full of nothing else—here, let me show you." She opened her tablet, brought up YouTube, typed a few commands and then held it out. The group gathered round to watch, but before Mrs. Latham could even click the video to start it, Lucy gasped and pointed to the title:

 **Angels Save FBI Agents from Helicopter Crash**

"Oh, _shit_ ," said Penny. They watched in silence as the news reporter, a dark-haired woman, gushed over the event and played at least twice a jumpy phone-shot video of the crippled FBI copter landing hard in the parking lot. It ended with Penny telling the crowd, " _Just call us guardian angels, okay?_ " and then her and Amy taking off back into the sky. " _Whoever the Angels are_ ," the reporter finished, " _some of America's finest owe them their lives tonight_."

Penny looked at Leonard, then at Mrs. Latham. "We're never going to get anything like our old lives back, are we?" she finally asked.

Mrs. Latham's smile was as close to gentle as Leonard had ever seen. "No, dear. I don't think so."


	8. Chapter 8

THE METAHUMAN TRANSFIGURATION

 **Description:** The gang gets superpowers. It's not as cool as some of them always thought. Alternate Season 9 premiere.

 **Notes:** This chapter turned out to be a little longer than most and not to have nearly as much action as some others, but I'm hoping the emotional intensity will make up for that. For those interested in my imaginary head-casting, I will note that I imagine the character of Breanna Locke to be played by Viola Davis, which is unsurprising given how much Ms. Locke is inspired by the character of Annaliese Keating on the show _How To Get Away With Murder_. I will also note (with an enclosed apology for actual Pasadena residents) the degree to which my imaginary Pasadena is varying geographically from reality, and those of a more technical bent may be able to spot my BS-ing through what might be in a state-of-the-art tech lab. And, as always, I would like to very much thank everybody who has posted encouraging reviews, and I hope you will continue to find this crazy tale engaging.

 **Disclaimer:** The author does not own THE BIG BANG THEORY or any of the characters.

\- 8 -

LATHAM HALL, 1645 ORLANDO ROAD, PASADENA, CA

THURSDAY, AUGUST 27, 2015, 7:44 P.M.

Mrs. Latham's house was the most spectacularly lavish place Raj had ever entered in his life. He was no stranger to luxury—even after their divorce both his parents were extremely wealthy—but it had been quite a while since he'd been home, and in India there were things that even wealth like his parents' couldn't buy. Space, for one. The "back lawn" of the property was long enough for a full-scale cricket pitch—nearly twenty-five yards—with room to spare, and ended in a courtyard containing a small but placidly clear swimming pool. Inside, the corridors were painted a warm burnt-gold hue, floored either with polished oak or beige carpet so thick and soft Raj thought he might be able to go to sleep right upon it. He suspected some of the paintings on the walls were originals that had once been in the Louvre. Mrs. Latham led the group past doorways showing off palatial bedrooms, some of which looked bigger than his entire apartment, and dining chambers large enough to seat all of CalTech's board of directors. From time to time they passed formally uniformed staff, all of whom either ignored them or nodded deferentially before going on their way. To the Raj of three days ago, this place might have felt like a homecoming.

But the Raj who now, for the first time in his life, finally _knew_ how to read the people around him, who could feel the emotional dynamics of a room the same way others felt air currents or warmth, had to swallow back a subtle but undeniable queasiness with every room he looked at. After a moment, it came to him: there was no _joy_ anywhere in this house. Everything that might come close had something just that little bit off about it, like the first streaks of infection in a superficially ruddy glow of health: a tint of vindictive malice in the triumph, of gross satiety in all the pleasures, of jealousy, bitterness, suspicion and fear beneath all the apparent bonhomie. This house could only ever be a home to people who didn't really know what a home truly was.

And Mrs. Latham . . . somehow, Mrs. Latham was the worst, not only for what she gave off but for what she didn't. Walking behind her, Raj slowly realized that the low-grade fizz of emotional overspill which everyone, even Sheldon, gave off to his new senses was barely perceptible at all from her, as if she had become so used to concealing what she felt that she herself might not know. But even more disturbing were the only hints of anything he _could_ detect—an iron presence that brooked no disagreement or denial, and the faintest black sting of sadistic glee he remembered only too well from their one prior meeting. For all her undeniable charm, Mrs. Latham was a woman, Raj slowly realized beyond any capacity to forget, who enjoyed humiliating others—and that was an impulse Raj knew well, having spent, like his best friends, much of his life being on the receiving end of it. Pace by pace, Raj grew more and more certain that coming here had been a mistake.

He was, nonetheless, almost convinced to rethink his opinion when Mrs. Latham led them into the library. Raj loved libraries—he'd spent many delightful hours in them throughout his life—and this was like nothing he'd ever seen in a private residence before: a loft-height, twelve-sided room with a rolling wooden ladder that could run around the entire chamber, lined with mahogany shelves that stretched from floor to ceiling packed every inch with books, and lit by a massive chandelier dangling from the ceiling's apex. His fingers itched to climb that ladder and roll it around, letting his hand trail over the books' spines. In the centre of the room stretched two long reading tables, ringed in chairs; at the head of one table sat a short, stocky black woman in a burgundy power suit, her dark eyes flickering between her laptop and a spread out folder to her right. At their entrance, she looked up, then stood. "Mrs. Latham," she said in a rich contralto. "Are these our clients?"

"Our _potential_ clients, Ms. Locke," said Mrs. Latham, taking a seat. She gestured to the other chairs, and one by one the group sat. Raj took the chair farthest away from the burgundy-clad woman. For all the richness of her tone, she radiated a hard chill that made Raj think of diamonds and ice, with a sting like biting on tinfoil; he thought if he sat any closer he might physically shiver. Lucy sat beside him, holding his arm. She hadn't been far from his side since they'd found her at Leonard's and Sheldon's place, and he realized only now how accustomed he'd become to the sparkle of anxiety and fear she gave off—the aura felt almost as cold as Locke's, but was somehow far more pleasant and bracing. More _alive._ Locke felt like a computer AI which had somehow gotten into a human body and was only waiting for its orders to go full Terminator on the puny humans. _And it absolutely will not stop, ever_ , he found himself thinking. _Until we are dead._

"Allow me to make the introductions," Mrs. Latham continued. "Dr. Leonard Hofstadter; Dr. Sheldon Cooper . . . ." One by one she named them all, finishing with, "And Mrs. Mary Elizabeth Cooper, widow of George, mother of Sheldon, of Everholt, Texas." Mary shifted slightly in her chair, her surprise and alarm like a gust of windblown gravel across his face. Not that Raj could blame her. Someone had been doing their research very fast. "Leonard, this is Breanna Locke, my personal attorney. I think she'll have some useful insights into your situation."

Leonard cleared his throat. "Listen, Mrs. Latham—"

"Oh, Leonard, please." Mrs. Latham tilted her head and smiled warmly at him. Raj thought of crocodiles closing on prey. "I did ask that you call me Laura, didn't I? It seems silly to be so formal if we're going to be working together."

Leonard exchanged a glance with Penny; the currents that flashed between them were too complex for Raj to read completely, though it seemed to end with an unhappy certainty from Leonard and a grudging acceptance from Penny. He looked back to Mrs. Latham and nodded. "Laura," he said, not warmly but firmly. "Given how much you seem to know about us already, I'm pretty sure you must know none of us are in a financial position to retain Ms. Locke's level of legal representation . . . ."

"That's not exactly true, Doctor," Locke interrupted smoothly. Raj only barely managed not to cringe as she turned her diamond-edged focus on him; Lucy looked at him in alarm. "Dr. Koothrappali's family is more than capable of meeting our usual fees. Are they not?"

Raj cleared his throat. "My parents are divorced, Ms. Locke," he said, a little hoarsely but evenly enough. "That's limited their resources somewhat. And neither of them would just automatically commit to incurring legal fees on my behalf, not without a compelling explanation."

Locke nodded wryly. "Which you've never been terribly good at giving, Dr. Koothrappali, have you? Well, fortunately for you all, that's not the offer on the table here." She glanced to Mrs. Latham. Raj wondered if he should be insulted, dismayed, or frightened. Lucy squeezed his arm consolingly.

"I'm prepared to contract Ms. Locke and her team to work on your behalf, Leonard," said Mrs. Latham, "effectively _pro bono_ as far as you all are concerned. Based solely on what I've seen, and what I can guess, I think you have a very good case."

Leonard frowned. "We do?"

Locke nodded again. "Oh yes. The FBI had no grounds to deem you threats to national security and therefore no grounds to hold you in that hospital; in the light of that fact, their attempts to recover you, even down to drafting that squad of riot cops in Texas, all constitute wrongful arrest and imprisonment. I've no doubt they managed to scare up a warrant by pulling some strings, but I'll be very surprised if I can't take that apart in an evidentiary hearing—the fact that they insisted those cops go in only with Tasers and nightsticks is a pretty clear indicator they weren't being straight with someone—and once the warrant is revoked, all your actions in Mrs. Cooper's house fall under legitimate defense of the home against trespassers. Though it helps a lot that Ms. Carmichaels and Dr. Fowler," she added with a glance at Penny and Amy, "didn't actually kill any of the cops they beat up—even if you did put a few of them in hospital. And the stunt saving that FBI copter didn't hurt either."

Penny stiffened. "Excuse me, that wasn't a flipping _stunt_ ," she said indignantly. "That was not letting a bunch of people die just because they were doing what they thought was their job."

"Good," said Locke. "Remember that righteousness; we might need you to show it again on the stand, although I doubt it'll come to that. Now, all that said—" Locke closed her laptop and leant forward, looking around at all of them. "A lot of our flexibility comes from the fact that there are simply no laws on the books to deal with people with your kinds of capabilities. That is not going to last. The more we can get out ahead of that initiative, the more control we can take. So I'm going to schedule a major press conference in a week or two where you, Drs. Hofstadter and Cooper, will make a public statement explaining exactly what happened on August 25, and why there was no possible way you could have been expected to be responsible for what happened in the Boer Laboratory building. We'll also have a public statement from the rest of you acknowledging your abilities, describing them, and basically convincing the public that nobody has anything to fear from you."

"So, no secret identity, ever, is what you're saying," said Howard, looking more than a little put out.

"Secret identities are things for comic books, Mr. Wolowitz," said Locke brusquely. "We're going to be dealing in the real world. You know, the place where adults live."

"Hey," said Bernadette, glaring at Locke. "That's my husband you're talking to. Show some respect! You know what I can do with a flu bug, some E. coli and a petri dish?"

Locke arched an eyebrow. "You know, Dr. Rostenkowski, threatening your legal counsel isn't usually a productive tactic."

"Oh, bite me, shoulderpads," Bernadette snapped. "We haven't even agreed to this deal, yet, and it's pretty clear you guys want something out of this too or we wouldn't be here. So let's cut the condescending crap and get down to brass tacks. What do you want?"

Leonard cleared his throat. "That's, ah, blunter than I would have put it, but it's a good question. What's our end of this arrangement, if it's not money?"

"Information," said Sheldon abruptly. He had folded his arms and was sizing up both Locke and Mrs. Latham with the skeptical look he tended to reserve for President Siebert's rare invitations to university social functions. "You want us to figure out some answers for you, and make sure you have exclusive access to them. And then maybe hire us as some kind of superhero mercenary team. Well, I have to tell you, ladies, I've already got a job I'm perfectly happy with."

"Do you?" said Mrs. Latham, sounding honestly quizzical. "Not that CalTech wouldn't be happy to keep you on, Sheldon, I'm sure, but, well . . . haven't you already written your Grand Unification equation? As I understand it, that means you've basically completed the structure of theoretical physics. Everything after this is just going to be filling in corners. Doesn't sound like much of a satisfying career left there—at least, not for a brain of your quality." The faintest sour tang in Mrs. Latham's aura betrayed the sarcasm in her last words, but nothing else did.

Sheldon opened his mouth and stopped. Raj felt the confusion wash over him like an avalanche, slowly followed by something black and freezing that was, he realized, pure, bone-deep horror and dismay. It was more intense than anything Raj would have believed Sheldon capable of, and his own stomach sank with its force. He had to close his eyes and swallow. Amy, who knew Sheldon well enough to read him even without Raj's powers, looked at Sheldon in sudden worry and took his hand; that Sheldon didn't immediately pull away was the final proof of how badly he'd been shaken. Mary put her hand on his shoulder.

"Let's come back to the future careers thing," said Leonard hastily, clearly aware that something about the remark had hit Sheldon hard, if not why. "If what you want is information, well, I think that's something we all of us desperately want to figure out too. But Mrs. La—er, Laura—first of all, we'd need all kinds of equipment to run the kind of tests we'd need—basically a full working high-energy physics lab, and a medical and probably biochemical lab as well. And secondly—" he paused for a deep breath, then went on firmly "—the information we could get out of those tests is something to which the entire world has a right, and based on the news reports we've seen, it's something they either need ASAP or are going to. We couldn't promise you permanently exclusive rights to the data, not and call ourselves real scientists." Leonard looked around at everybody else, his eyebrows raised. "Right?"

"Well, hang on a minute, Leonard," said Bernadette, her tone suddenly markedly different. "There's nothing wrong with taking out a few proprietary covering patents in advance. Zangen doesn't release all _my_ work to the public—we have a right to recoup something on our investment, don't we? After all, we've all of us got the rest of our lives to think about . . . ." She gave a bright, artificially perky smile. Howard stared at her, his eyebrows almost up in his hairline.

"My thinking exactly, dear," said Mrs. Latham approvingly. At the remark, Bernadette's smile suddenly faded, and she shifted her weight uncomfortably. Her eyes stayed fixed on Leonard, though, who was staring at her as if he'd never seen her before. Raj frowned. What the hell was this?

He hadn't consciously intended anything, but simply thinking the question appeared to trigger something in his new senses. As if someone had turned a dial, suddenly the room seemed to dim around him, and the sensations coming off Bernadette blazed up invisibly in his sight, like neutrinos shooting through matter. To Raj's shock, there was far more sincere eagerness in that aura than he'd expected—behind her earnest façade there tingled the confident ambition of someone comfortable with making deals, and the hunger for opportunity of someone always thinking about where the advantage might lie. Raj had known for a while that Bernadette had a streak of ruthless competitiveness to her, but he had never suspected it ran this deep or this strong.

 _On the other hand_ , he found himself thinking, _that might be exactly what we need right now._

He cleared his throat, sensing the surprise from everyone as people turned to look at him, and felt slightly irritated. Did _everybody_ really think of him as such a milquetoast? Then he decided not to think about that. "Bernadette may have a point," he said, putting his fingertips together. "Much as I applaud the purity of the scientific ideal, Leonard, think of it this way: We are not just operating as scientists here. We are also going to be our own test subjects. Do you really want information about our DNA—yours, mine, Sheldon's, Amy's or Penny's—going out to the public?" He saw Leonard's stubbornness flicker at the name _Penny_ , and leant forward. "Or to pick someone who can't speak for themselves at all at this point: What about Howard's and Bernadette's child? Do we have the right to waive an entire family's medical confidentiality?"

"No, of course not!" Leonard sat back, scowling. "I was never talking about releasing private medical information, just data that could help people who needed it. Like how to test for the presence of an oneirion field in a subject brain." He directed a rather fierce look at Bernadette, who blinked, clearly taken aback by it. "Call me crazy, but making a profit on that isn't my first priority."

"Well, that's as may be, Leonard," said Mrs. Latham. "But I'm a businesswoman, and I have responsibilities to my board and my employees; I can't _not_ consider the profit angle. Besides, for insurance purposes I have to monitor resource usage, so you're going to have to report your results to us first anyway. Suppose we simply phrased it as, oh, say, a grace period? A non-disclosure agreement requiring six months' wait between reporting to me and publishing to the field."

"With part ownership shares in any technological or methodological innovations developed as a result of that research," added Bernadette hastily. That ambition—Raj wasn't quite sure he could call it greed, although it was verging disquietingly close to that—flared up in her aura again. "Including right of patent franchise control." She looked back at Leonard. "Listen, Leonard, I understand you don't like this idea, but I've worked in R&D for years now, and let me tell you, the best way to make sure something you're making isn't used for the wrong purpose is to stake a legal claim to it. Right or wrong, though, that means that when somebody _does_ want to use it, they've got to _pay_ you to use it. We don't have to be factory owners gouging Victorian urchins, here. We just have to be part of the power structure, and that means we have to do what's needed to maintain that structure. There's no way around it."

Leonard glared at her, drumming his fingers on the tabletop. "Somebody's going to make money off this, so it might as well be us? Is that what you're saying?"

Bernadette held his gaze. "I'm saying we can share control at least partly on our terms with someone willing and able to protect us, or we can turn it over to the same people who wouldn't have cared if they Tasered Sheldon's mother into a heart attack. Sometimes there is no snow-white choice, Leonard."

And something stirred behind Bernadette's crackling ambition—something deeper, something colder and more desperate: fear, doubt, wariness. Suddenly Raj knew what Bernadette was doing, and his mouth tightened. As carefully as he could, he reached out to Leonard with the lightest possible touch, trying to will to him a message stripped to nothing but an impulse, a delicate brush of sensation that would convey without compelling. _Trust her_ , he willed. _Trust her, Leonard._

Leonard's head snapped around, his eyes locking to Raj's, widening in surprise. Immediately Raj dropped the transmission, but didn't look away. There was silence for a moment.

Abruptly Leonard slumped. "All right," he muttered. "Bernadette, you seem to know what you're talking about with this stuff; I think we can trust you—" his eyes flickered back to Raj's for half an instant "—to work something out with Ms. Locke, here. Would you be up for that?" Then he straightened and turned back to Mrs. Latham. "But we're _going_ to include an option for quick disclosure, if something comes up that'll save lives."

"Of course, dear." Mrs. Latham smiled affably. "And as for your first request, I think we can help you with that, and more quickly than you might expect. Let me just take a moment here." She took a phone from her jacket, made a call and put it to her ear. "Yes, hello, Kieran," she said. "We're going to need some rooms made up for our guests, at least five, I should think—" She looked at Leonard. "I'm assuming you and your fiancée will share a room, like the Wolowitzes here, and that Mrs. Cooper will need her own chamber; is anybody else going to be sharing?"

Raj raised his hand. "Uh, I think Miss Armbruster and I will take separate rooms, thank you." Beside him, Lucy nodded; the emotional surge coming off her was too tangled to read completely, but at least part of it was relief. Raj decided he could live with that. His life was too complicated to risk making it worse right now.

Amy cleared her throat. "Dr. Cooper and I will also need separate—"

"One room," interrupted Sheldon, without looking up. "For us both." He met her shocked gaze and shrugged, looking exhausted. "If I'm not going to be able to sleep in my own bed anyway, this is more efficient. And in the context of the general air of paranoia and mistrust here, probably safer. Do you disagree?"

Amy gaped at him. After a moment, she managed to close her mouth. "I, uh . . . yes. Yes, I agree." If Lucy's emotions had been a tangle, Amy's felt like a superstring crushed to neutron-star density; Raj winced and walled off his mind as best he could.

"Six rooms, Kieran," said Mrs. Latham into her phone, apparently not at all bothered by Sheldon's words. "Yes. Thank you." She put the phone away and stood up. "Now, if you'll follow me? Gentlemen, if you're anything like my husband was—and I think you are—you'll appreciate this." She went to one of the bookshelves, hesitated, then moved over one. "Certainly more than _I_ ever did. Added a ridiculous cost to the construction, and I can never remember where they are or which ones you have to pull . . . ah, yes. Here." She tipped one book forward on its spine, then another, then a third. Something clicked. Mrs. Latham nodded in satisfaction and pulled lightly on the shelf, which slid forward out of the wall on four greased extension rails affixed to its corners. Behind, a gap in the wall showed a metal-lined cubicle gleaming under harsh fluorescent light.

"You're kidding," said Penny in disbelief. "You actually have a secret flipping _elevator_ in your _library?_ Holy crap on a cracker, you really are a superv—" She caught herself at the last second under the twin glares of Leonard and Bernadette. "—vvvery, super, person to know! I mean, seriously. That's awesome."

Mrs. Latham shrugged. "Eh," she said. "Like I said, it was my husband's idea. Brilliant man, but more than a little loopy." She whirled her finger around her temple in the classic screw-loose gesture. "Still, I kept things in working order; that was cheaper than ripping everything out, and I thought it might come in handy one day. I was right—if hardly for the reasons anyone could have guessed. We should all fit, if we're willing to get cosy . . . ." She stepped over the ground level rail and into the elevator, then beckoned.

Raj exchanged glances with Lucy, who didn't look much happier than he felt. But she nodded to him, as if to say, _Your call._ Raj couldn't decide if he felt good to be so trusted or annoyed to be put on the spot. He decided not to waste time with either and stood. As they went to the bookshelf and ducked past it into the elevator, Lucy took his hand.

8:01 P.M.

The fit was actually not that bad; the elevator was easily twice the size of a normal car, more like a storage or hospital elevator. Oddly, it occurred to Penny that it was still closer than she would ever want to have been stuck next to Howard Wolowitz, once upon a time. Things changed. Boy, did they. Now Howard only had eyes for Bernadette, and if the look was more worried than amorous, they were still pressed closely together as if terrified of being pulled apart. Moved despite herself, Penny reached down and took Leonard's hand; he started, glanced at her, then gave a tiny smile. She returned it.

A minute or so passed in uncomfortable silence; five or six floors' worth of distance, Penny guessed. When the elevator finally stopped, Mrs. Latham flashed a blank white plastic card at a black scan panel on the wall, and the doors rolled open. Leonard, Raj, Sheldon and Howard all gasped together, sounding like kids who had just walked into Disneyland for the first time, and moved slowly out into the room beyond in a visible daze.

Penny frowned as she followed them out of the elevator. The room was a stark cavern of concrete walls and floor, filled from wall to wall with tables on which all she could see was machines and dust; cables ran along the floor, mostly beneath the tables but sometimes across the passages between. The air smelled of metal, oil, dust, and the faint acrid tang of ozone and other gases—a lot like Leonard's own lab, in fact. Fluorescent lights glared from overhead. "What is all this?"

"Oh, my God, will you _look_ at this?" said Howard, practically drooling. He ran his hand over a huge boxlike device. "This is a multi-layer, multi-channel 3D fabricator with laser _and_ electro-sintering! You could build an entire car from scratch with this baby!"

"Holy crap, Howard, check this out." Farther down, Leonard swung a tarp off a large rectangular shape, revealing something that looked like a transparent fishtank with the front missing. "If this is what I think this is— _yes_!" He tapped frantically at a keyboard next to the tank, and suddenly light came alive within the space it enclosed: glowing lines of multicoloured radiance, red, green, blue and gold, twined together and became a three-dimensional transparent outline of something that looked like a car engine, though insanely more complex. Penny gasped. Leonard put his hands to his face, looking startlingly like Macauley Culkin in the old _Home Alone_ posters. "Full 3D CADCAM design with holodisplay!" He reached inside the tank, and as if the light sketches were solid objects, they shifted back and forth under the movements of his hand. " _With_ gesture tracking! Oh my God, and it's got _dust_ on it!"

"A CADCAM gesture-display holotank?" Raj rushed past Penny, and almost physically staggered at the sight. "Holy Krishna, do you know what the backlog is to get just a half-day's worth of time on the university's tank? Close to three months!" He abruptly scowled. "Though it'd be a hell of a lot less time if Kripke didn't keep commandeering it to build his fighting robots."

Sheldon had gone over to a shelving unit full of cabling and components Penny didn't recognize, though some of them looked vaguely like the boxes and devices the guys often incorporated into their computer setups. He sorted through them like a kid unable to decide which candy he wanted first. "Oh, Leonard," he said, practically cooing. "Look at all this! I could build my very own private Wi-Fi network! Enough to cover our entire neighbourhood!"

"And yet you continued to take every opportunity to kick me off your apartment's WiFi for eight years," remarked Penny.

Sheldon drew himself up primly. "That's different. You weren't invited."

"Would you invite anybody to this network of yours?" Penny arched an eyebrow.

"No."

"Then what's the point of building it?"

"To deny people access," said Sheldon, as if that should have been obvious. He squinted past Leonard, Howard and Raj, who were still fussing over the holotank, and suddenly gasped. "Amy, if you go to the corner over there, you'll see a lovely little toy that I think we'll both find very entertaining."

"Hmph," said Amy in an undertone to Penny and Bernadette. "The last time he said something like that I was hoping he'd visited that dirty store you told me about. Turned out he'd bought me a starter train kit." She navigated her way around the devices and equipment packing the floor, turned right past the holotank, and then she too gasped with almost exactly the same note of surprise. "Good God!"

"Oh my God, it _is_ from the dirty store," said Penny.

Bernadette snorted. "Hundred bucks says you're wrong."

"Yeah, no." Penny hurried past the guys, dodged round something that looked like an industrial mining drill, saw the machine that Amy was running her hands over like an equestrian soothing a stallion, and drew in a gasp of her own. "Holy crap, that's an MRI machine, isn't it? Does that work?"

"Oh, everything in here works," said Mrs. Latham, standing by the elevator door. "My husband was a bit of a tinkerer, and he liked to get the tech geniuses he hired to be able to come in and show him exactly what they were doing. Unfortunately, that sort of thing bores the living crap out of me, so after he died I basically just kept the equipment up to date and forgot about it." She waved vaguely around the room. "I haven't the foggiest what else is down here, but I suspect you boys will have far more fun doing your own inventory, hm? Just let me know if you need something and can't find it."

"And not just the boys," said Penny, as Bernadette hurried past her to glom onto a series of machines set up along a tabletop next to Amy's MRI scanner. She walked back to the elevator, glad to see that Lucy and Mary had decided to stick near the door as well; it was nice to know she wasn't the only person thoroughly at sea with all of this. She nodded at the keycard in Mrs. Latham's hand. "If the guys are gonna be using this place, they'll probably all need their own cards, right?"

"Ah, good thought, dear. I'll have to have some made up." Mrs. Latham watched the others gushing over their machines with what looked creepily like maternal fondness. "It's fun watching smart people geek out, isn't it? They're so unselfconscious about it. Like kids comparing Hallowe'en candy."

Mary shook her head. "I don't know, ma'am; I've seen some plenty vicious fights start exactly that way, too. Smart don't wipe out greedy." She cleared her throat. "Listen, Mrs. Latham—"

"Please, Mary, feel free to call me Laura."

"No, I don't think so." It was said so calmly that Penny could actually see Mrs. Latham take a second to register the refusal. "Mrs. Latham, I'm gonna tell you something while Shelley's busy, 'cause he's just stubborn enough to take it amiss if he sees his old mother tryin' to protect him. You must already know I love my son. What you may not know is that I love the rest of these people, too; love 'em like they were my own family." She smiled warmly at Penny, who had to gulp down a sudden lump in her throat. "Now if you want to help them out of the Christian goodness of your heart, fine and dandy; more power to ya. But if you plan to use them for your own ends and I get wind of it, well, I believe in leaving vengeance to the Lord, but I also believe that the Lord helps those who help themselves. And I plan to help myself in that event." Her unblinking gaze did not flinch from Mrs. Latham's for a second. "I trust I make myself understood."

Penny had to gulp again, but this time from something else entirely. Lucy looked like she wanted to disappear through the floor again. Mrs. Latham looked back at Mary with a calm, assessing expression Penny decided she really didn't like. "I don't find threats amusing, dear," Mrs. Latham said at last. "I trust I make _myself_ understood."

"Perfectly." Mary glanced back into the elevator. "You know, I don't think there's much more I can contribute here. Would you mind if I took this back upstairs? I could really use a lie-down. It's been a long day, and I've already been—what's the word, Penny? Tased?—Tased once." She stepped back into the elevator. "Lucy? Feel like comin' with me?"

"Uh, yeah, actually, I do." Lucy followed her in, then looked pleadingly at Penny. "Penny? Can you tell Raj where I've gone?"

"No problem, sweetie." To her own surprise, it was no effort to say the word. She still wasn't sure if she liked Lucy all that much, but Penny had to admit they had been through enough together that it was hard not to sympathize. "Get some rest. We've all had a day."

"Thanks." Shyly, Lucy smiled. Surprising herself again, Penny returned it. The elevator doors began to roll closed. Then, a second before the doors met in the middle, Mary's hand slapped against one of them and stopped them; they rolled back open again and Mary leaned out.

"One more thing," she said, and pointed at Mrs. Latham. "Don't call me 'dear', and don't call me 'Mary'. Ever. Clear?"

Mrs. Latham lifted her eyebrows. Then she shrugged. "Clear."

She and Penny watched in silence as the elevator closed. When the whir of the motors had died away, Mrs. Latham put her finger to her chin, tapping it thoughtfully. "I'm conflicted," she said at length. "The bluntness is refreshing. The ingratitude isn't. You'd almost think I hadn't just committed to keeping her son out of the hands of the government, wouldn't you?" Oddly, she sounded almost jovial.

Penny wasn't sure why she asked the next question, but it was the first thing that came to mind. "Do you have any children, Mrs. Latham?"

The older woman hesitated. "None that are a part of my life," she said eventually. "And that's all I intend to say about it, so I advise not pressing me further." She gave Penny a direct look. For all that Penny had, in the past few hours, shrugged off the impact of bullets, Taser darts and a helicopter rotor at full speed, that look still ran chills down her arms. Mrs. Latham pressed the button beside the elevator doors. "Tell your friends they can come up whenever they're done, there's no hurry. I'll tell Kieran to leave directions to your rooms in the library. There are intercoms for service if you want a late snack, or need anything during the night. Sleep well, dear."

Penny had to admit, if only to herself, she had started finding the " _dear_ " almost as offputting as Mrs. Cooper seemed to. But that look—and the reminder of how fragile their situation really was—had temporarily quelled any urge to mouth off. "Thank you," she said quietly, and nodded. "You too."

It seemed to mollify Mrs. Latham; she smiled as the elevator doors opened again. "Oh, I always sleep well, dear. Don't you know? The benefits of a clear conscience." She stepped inside and gave a small, elegant wave goodbye. The doors closed.

11:48 P.M.

Hours had gone by in the lab before Raj, unable to keep himself from yawning, had checked the time on a wall clock and shocked himself with how late it was. Penny had long since gone back upstairs. When he went round the lab to collect the others, Leonard and Amy had both yielded only reluctantly, despite both being obviously as tired as he was. Sheldon had actually fallen asleep on the table in front of a pixelboard which he had covered in equations, his head pillowed on his forearms. Howard wouldn't come at all; he had been locked into what seemed almost a trance at the holotank, flipping his way through designs and components as if conducting a symphony, the tank's light painting his face in flickering schematics of green and gold and red. Bernadette had been equally stubborn, though she had had a much better reason. "I can ignore fatigue at will now, Raj," she explained, and indeed, she looked as bright-eyed and perky as she ever had. "If I can heal a broken skull, I can clear a few fatigue poisons out of my system."

"Indefinitely?" said Raj.

That had, at least, set her back. "Um . . . I don't know."

"Then it might be a good idea to find out under more controlled circumstances." Raj waggled his finger at her, then indicated her stomach. "And remember, it's not just _your_ health you're looking after. A single all-nighter probably isn't going to do you any harm, but don't you get into this habit, okay?"

Bernadette scowled at him. "Who are you, my mother?"

Raj lowered his voice to a murmur, though from the glazed look in Howard's eyes he rather suspected he could have shouted and Howard wouldn't have heard. "I'm the person who helped you pull the wool over Mrs. Latham's eyes, Bernadette. If she thinks at least a couple of us are inclined to be on her side, she may not put quite so much effort into . . . securing us. Right?"

Bernadette sighed. "God, I hate keeping secrets from Howie. But you know them, Raj; they're all lousy liars. They'd never be able to fool her. And Leonard's so stupidly noble he'd have wound up getting us all thrown out." She gave him a considering look. "I'm actually kind of surprised _you_ pulled off the act, to be honest."

"Thanks," said Raj sourly. "I guess it helps to be able to read your audience. Besides, you had a point. We just have to remember that Leonard had one too." He sighed. "I'll see you both tomorrow morning, I hope."

He and Leonard had helped Amy put Sheldon to bed, Leonard leaving as soon as Sheldon was down with clearly one thing only—or one person, rather—on his mind. The room given to Sheldon and Amy had a massive king-sized bed with a curtain frame, which Amy had slid open and closed with a tired but goofy grin. "He'll love this, when he wakes up," she predicted. "Like having your own tree fort in bed." She looked down at Sheldon, who'd fallen back deeply asleep. "This isn't exactly how I pictured our first time sharing a bed, but I suppose I should take what I can get. It's all progress."

Raj nodded. "Amy, can I give you some advice?" he said after a moment.

Amy arched an eyebrow at him. "Lack of permission has never stopped you doing that before, Rajesh."

Raj flushed. "Well, yes, but this is . . . rather personal. It's about Sheldon." He took her sudden alert look as consent, and went on. "Sheldon's happiest when he's comfortable, but he only manages to change successfully when he's knocked _out_ of his comfort zone. What you need to do is watch for the moments he's off-balance, and take advantage of them—but you have to make sure he never thinks of _you_ as the thing that _pushed_ him off balance, or he'll only resist you all the more. The thing you want has to be the thing that's _more_ familiar to him than anything else. Do you follow me?"

Amy nodded slowly. "I think I do. Thank you, Rajesh." Then her mouth twisted in a wry look. "The implication seems to be that the only way he'll ever propose is if we're in a war zone, though."

Raj shrugged. "Well—the way our lives seem to be going, that may happen sooner than we think." He'd meant it to be a wisecrack, but couldn't really laugh at it. Neither could Amy.

His own room was considerably smaller, the bed only a queen-size, but Raj was too tired to care; he was even too tired to care about missing the pajamas he usually slept in, though it helped there that the sheets were as soft and silken as anything he owned. Strange to be so exhausted, he mused, when he had, after all, been in a coma for two days and only woken up this afternoon. But he, too, had been Tased, he defended himself. And the day had been tremendously busy.

He was drifting off when the soft knock came at his door, and for a moment he just wanted to whine. Then the cold, nervous fizziness he sensed through the door told him who it had to be. Acutely aware that he was wearing only his underwear, he gulped, pulled the covers around himself and raised his voice. "Come in."

The door cracked open; Lucy peered hesitantly around it into the room. When she saw he was alone, she came in. Unlike him, she was still dressed in the clothes Penny had lent her. "Hi," she managed after a long, awkward pause in which she stared at everything in the room except him.

Raj nodded. "Hi," he said, and waited. It felt distinctly strange. Before, when in a situation like this, he had always been so intensely afraid of saying the wrong thing that the fear itself had almost always tripped him into it. Now he could tell, as easily as a person with closed eyes could find the sun, the difference between the silence of looking for your own words and the silence of waiting for someone else's; for Lucy, this was definitely the former. The tangle turned over and over in her mind, like boiling spaghetti. Raj waited without any impatience.

"I saw Emily at the hospital," she burst out in a rush. Lines of fear cracked through her aura like glass shattering in frost. Raj stiffened. What was wrong? "I wanted to see if she was all right. She was in a coma when I found her. I told her I was sorry, and—" Lucy's eyes found Raj's at last. "I told her I wouldn't see you any more. I kinda felt I owed her that, for trying to save us like she did."

Raj let out a slow breath, weighing that thought in his mind. "You said, earlier, you'd seen her and, uh, she'd been angry," he temporized, deliberately leaving out the rest of what she'd said. "I thought that meant she was better. Why didn't you say anything before?"

"I didn't want to talk about this in front of everybody," said Lucy. "It was your business. Ours. Not theirs." She came over and sat down on the bed, but it was more the slump of someone too tired to stand any longer than any coquettish flirtation. "And then when I told her goodbye . . . she woke up. And told _me_ goodbye. And—" She swallowed. "I really do think she meant to kill me, Raj. I wasn't exaggerating that part. I only got away by ghosting out through the floor."

Raj felt cold. "I . . . I'm sure that's not the case, Lucy. Emily has a bit of a dark streak and I know she's mad at us both, but she would never—"

"Raj, I think she killed those people at the hospital too." Lucy turned to face him. "I found an office, and went online to look up some newscasts. I read about the attack. I escaped just before the time they said everything started happening; I heard it start happening, so I know when and where. Maybe she didn't start out planning to, but . . . ." She swallowed again. "She was changed too, Raj. Just like you and me. But I think she's become something a lot scarier than you or me, or any of your friends. And believe me, Raj, I know from scary."

After a moment, Raj nodded. "I do believe you," he said, and he did; there was no hint of a lie in Lucy's face or mind. "I very much hope you're wrong, but . . . thank you for telling me, anyway. And as far as uncomfortable admissions go, I . . . I was not entirely honest with you, when I invited you." He let his gaze drop to his bedcovers. "The truth was that I haven't been happy with Emily for some time, and I missed you, and I wanted to see you. But I was too much of a coward to break it off with her first, and too much of a weakling to tell you the truth. If I had just done one or the other, you would never have been there that day and you would never have been a part of this. I am . . . sorrier than words can say."

"Wow," Lucy said, blinking. "Well. Uh, I kinda wish you hadn't told me that."

Raj shrugged. "I can't blame you."

"No, no—not like that. It's just that, well, if you're going to be honest with me, I think I kinda have to be honest with you . . . ." It was Lucy's turn to look away again, this time at the wall. "Remember when we had that coffee, after Penny chewed me out for breaking up with you through an e-mail? I told you I was seeing someone? Well, the truth is, I, uh, I kind of . . . lied . . . when I said that."

To his own disgust, Raj immediately felt a current of hope spring up in his breast. He squashed it down, wanting to swear. This was no time for that sort of thing. "In what way?"

"In the pretty much complete and total way," Lucy said, and sighed. "I was never seeing anyone. I just couldn't bring myself to go through my old cycle with you again. I was too scared."

Raj nodded slowly. "Well," he admitted, "I understand scared. I spent most of my life being unable to talk to women unless I numbed my fear with alcohol. That I broke through that block at all, Lucy, is mostly due to you. So there's another thing I owe you."

"Really?" Lucy smiled. "I never knew that. Good to know something good came out of our whole big hot mess." Then the smile faded, and she looked down at her knotted hands. Raj watched her aura change, sliding from her tangled terror and confusion into a spinning ball of growing resolve. "Your, uh, your abilities," she said. "You can read what people are feeling? And project it?"

"It appears so, yes."

"Can you tell me something?" Lucy shifted around, moving closer to him, her dark eyes wide. "Can you use your power to make someone _stop_ feeling something?"

Raj blinked. "Well . . . yes, actually, although I only ever did that once, and it was just as a backup to reassuring someone normally. Why?"

Lucy drew in a deep, shuddering breath. "Because I decided something, back in that hospital, when I was trying to find my way out. I decided—" she gulped "—I decided that I was sick and tired of being scared. Of living my life like this." Then she looked up at him, and he couldn't look away from those huge, depthless eyes. "And I just want to know . . . just once . . . what it's like _not_ to be scared."

Without further warning she leaned over and kissed him. Her aura exploded in a tingling, freezing burst of fear; Raj almost drowned in it before he realized what she wanted, and reached out. It was like wrestling an octopus made of liquid nitrogen. For a few moments he struggled futilely with her fear before he changed his mind. Instead, he reached down through it, and as his hands came up to slide into her hair, he found the core of that terror and wrapped it gently in warmth, as if cupping a baby bird in his hands. Delicately as a chef pouring honey into batter, he let his own excitement fuse with hers.

The turmoil and torrent of fear eased, slowed, grew warm. Under his hands, he felt Lucy suddenly relax, felt her mouth loosen and grow mobile against his. She broke apart from him, staring into his eyes, her mouth open now with astonishment. Then she grabbed his shoulders and pulled him in for another kiss, much fiercer now, hungrier; the fear flashed over, like plutonium achieving critical mass, and became a desire so raw it was frightening in itself. "Oh my God," she mumbled into his mouth, between kisses, " _this_ is what this is supposed to feel like?! Why do normal people—waste time—doing anything else?!"

"If you think— _this_ is good," Raj mumbled back, "you absolutely—won't believe—what comes next . . . ." But then his mind leapfrogged from image to memory to conscience, and he realized what he was doing. With a massive exertion of willpower, he made himself pull back, deliberately severing the connection with Lucy's mind.

Lucy stared at him, bewildered, her chest heaving, her hands still clenched on his shoulders. "What's wrong?" she gasped. "Why did you stop?"

Raj took a few deep breaths of his own. "Because right now," he said finally, "you're not thinking clearly. Your mind's under a foreign influence—no different from getting roofied. If anything happens between us, it should happen without my needing to . . . to _make_ it happen." Carefully, he took her hands off his shoulders, then held them firmly. "And much as I would very much _like_ something to happen . . . I don't think it can. Not right now. It would make things too difficult, and I have . . . things I have to sort out first." He didn't say, _With Emily_ , but the words hung between them in the air, clear as a bell.

Lucy's brows drew down. But after a moment, one side of her mouth turned up. "When the hell did _you_ get so wise?" she said, her breathing slowing. Raj saw the desire damping down, collapsing into something calmer than he'd ever felt from her, with a streak of wry amusement. "I thought you were almost as damaged as I am."

Raj shrugged. "I've had a lot of time to think about this stuff. And . . . you'd be amazed how easy it is to look wise when you get inside information." He tapped his temple, then smiled. "But you're welcome to stay, just to sleep." With a mock-lasciviously arched eyebrow, he added, "That is, if I can trust a sly minx like you not to take advantage of me in my defenseless state."

Lucy smiled hesitantly. "I don't know. It's been a really long time since I was this close to a nearly-naked man. I might just lose control of myself, you know?" She giggled, and Raj chuckled. Without saying anything further she slid over, curling in next to him, her head on his shoulder and one hand on his chest. "Wow," she said. "You're . . . surprisingly warm."

"Well, the effects of that experiment weren't entirely one-way, you know."

"I guess not."

They lay together in comfortable silence. To his own surprise, Raj felt himself actually getting sleepy again, and had almost drifted off before Lucy whispered, "Raj?"

"Hmmm?"

"Thank you for saying you were sorry for getting me into this. But . . . just to let you know . . . I'm not." She kissed his cheek.

Raj smiled.

350 SHOPPERS LANE, PASADENA, CA

11:58 P.M.

In the window of the convenience store, Kurt peered out at the darkness of the night beyond, then glanced impatiently back at Sweeney as she searched behind the cash counter. The clerk, a tubby Asian guy in his forties, stood swaying beside her, staring straight ahead, a stupid, blissful grin on his face. He'd gone down so easy Kurt half-wondered if Sweeney had even needed her mojo. Unfortunately, she couldn't whammy video cameras, which was why they had to wait until she found the recorder and stopped it. Kurt cracked his knuckles and looked out at the night again. He'd locked the door and turned off the OPEN sign, but anybody who came by and saw people in here was like as not to bang on the door and ask to be let in anyway, and that was not a good way to go unremarked.

"Got it!" Sweeney ducked down, then emerged again with a black videocassette in her hand. She nodded at the ATM, which they'd seen in the store window and which, she'd told him, belonged to one of the cheaper service unions, therefore unlikely to contain any of the newer anti-theft measures like dye-bombs or chemical foams. "Okay, hit it."

Kurt grinned. He liked this part. He turned to the ATM and drew back a fist, but before he could let fly Sweeney suddenly raised her hand. "No, wait. Let's see if there's anything else we can get, first. Once you rip that thing open there'll be a silent alarm going out. We'll need to be gone in two minutes, and we better not miss anything."

Kurt thought that over, then nodded. "Makes sense. Okay, let's scrounge." He had never much liked taking orders from anybody and enjoyed it even less when it was a woman, but he had to admit that this Sweeney chick was smart—which made sense, if she'd been a doctor before . . . well, before—and he wasn't averse to going with the flow when it made sense. Half the stuff she suggested he knew he would probably never have thought of on his own.

It had started back in that garage, when the first thing she'd told him to do was grab a spare paramedic's jacket from the ambulance to wear over the hospital johnny. After leaving Page on the floor to sleep off whatever Sweeney had done to her, Sweeney had dashed upstairs to retrieve some key belongings from her apartment, including a spare set of pants for him and her emergency cash stash; he, in the meantime, had stolen a car—he'd worked in an auto mechanic's shop, before a run-in with the law over an assault charge had cost him that job, and knew how to hotwire a car and how to spot an older model, with none of the modern security safeguards like LoJacks or remote engine deactivation. Sweeney had given him some very specific instructions, then climbed into the trunk ("to rest," she'd said tersely) and pulled it closed. Making sure to keep at or just above the speed limit, Kurt drove over to the parking lots around Shoppers Lane, found a space and waited.

Once night had fallen, he'd let Sweeney out of the trunk, and they'd started their run. Sweeney had insisted on hitting an electronics store first, where she'd grabbed about twenty prepaid burner phones and then whammied the clerk into forgetting them. They'd paused to get some food at a burger place, though Kurt suspected he knew what had happened when Sweeney had abruptly excused herself a quarter of the way through her meal, practically run to the bathroom, then returned looking pale and sick and refused to finish the rest of it. She'd only regained her normal look after making another bathroom visit, this time following one of the counter clerks very closely; that clerk hadn't reappeared by the time they left. After that, they'd hit a clothing store and picked up a few new outfits, then—of all things—a camping store, where Sweeney had gotten a two-man tent and a sleeping bag big enough for her to enfold her completely. This convenience store was one of their last stops, and Kurt had to admit, he was itching to hit the road. He'd been considering leaving Pasadena for a while. Sometimes, reality just gave you exactly the kick you needed.

At last, he'd filled several plastic bags with useful stuff, including a couple of cartons of cigarettes—he didn't smoke much himself, but they were a handy impromptu currency in the circles he guessed they were going to be moving in for a while. He checked with Sweeney that she'd gotten what she needed, then went to the ATM. She surprised him when she joined him. "Something I want to try," was all she said. They positioned themselves on opposite sides of the unit, then counted down.

Kurt's punch drove all the way through the metal casing and into the interior. Sweeney's dented it, but didn't break through; she hissed in pain and drew back her fist, shaking it. The bloody scrapes across the knuckles vanished as Kurt watched. He filed that carefully away. She wasn't _quite_ as strong as he now was, it appeared, but that punch looked like it would hit hard enough to hurt regardless—and when she changed tactics and began ripping at the outer panels until the screws holding the machine together snapped, he noted another example of her brains. Within two minutes they had the guts of the machine open, and Kurt was scooping out stacks of twenties and stuffing them in a carrying case they'd lifted from the ambulance. Sweeney had been right: no dye bombs exploded in their face.

A loud ringing split the air. Kurt whirled, half ready to punch something out, before realizing it was just the store phone, and slumped. "Shit." He looked at Sweeney, who was staring at the phone oddly, and poked her sharply in the arm. "Come on, we better go."

"Don't touch me," she told him, without force. "Okay, right. Let's go." They left the store open, the phone still ringing, the clerk smiling foolishly at empty air. Kurt actually felt kind of sorry for the guy. He doubted they'd blame him, but it still looked bad to have this kind of shit happen on your watch.

In the car, Kurt followed the signs leading to the 210, heading east. Sweeney went through the burner phones, activating them one by one and dividing them up. "We'll need to be careful with these," she told him. "Any time you even think someone's ID'd you through a person you've used one of these to contact, switch to a new phone. We should be able to—"

The phone rang in her hand. She dropped it in shock. Kurt frowned. "Telemarketer?"

"At this hour?" Sweeney picked it up and silenced it by turning it off, then popped the battery out for good measure. "There. The next time they try, they'll get no answer and—"

The rest of the phones all went off at once. In the close quarters of the car, the noise was earsplitting. Kurt yelled in shock and almost rolled the car, swerving to the curb and coming to a screeching stop at the last minute. "Turn 'em _off!_ " he yelled at Sweeney. "Come on, you stupid bitch, turn 'em—aw, fuck this!" He grabbed one, opened it and yelled at whoever was on the other end, "Goddammit, you asshole, _stop fucking calling us!_ "

Suddenly, the ringing ceased, as abruptly as it had started. Kurt's breath heaved, and he stared at Sweeney, who looked as poleaxed as he felt. When the voice suddenly spoke on the phone, he almost dropped it. " _I beg your pardon for the interruption, sir_ ," it said; it was male, mellifluous and even. " _Are you in the company of Dr. Emily Sweeney?_ "

"Who wants to know?" Kurt demanded.

" _I represent a group with whom I think Dr. Sweeney will find her interests now align. We may have opportunities for you, as well. But it is imperative I speak to Dr. Sweeney now. We have gone through a great deal of effort to find her. We do not want that effort to go to waste—although we will dispose of you both, if you make that necessary. Please. Let me speak to Dr. Sweeney._ "

It was the sheer absent-mindedness of the threat which rattled Kurt, as if the voice really had just only thought of it in passing. Kurt's fist clenched. But he had nothing to hit. After a few deep, harsh breaths, he handed the phone to Emily. "It's for you," he said.

Eyes wide, Sweeney took it and listened. There was a long period of silence. At last, she only nodded and said, "I understand. Thank you." She closed the phone and sat for a moment.

"Well?" said Kurt.

"New directions," said Emily at last. "Get on the 110 and head into downtown L.A. We're going to meet someone there. They say they can help us."

"Help us do what?"

"Survive," said Emily. "Because—apparently—they've been doing it themselves. And for much longer than anybody thought."


	9. Chapter 9

THE METAHUMAN TRANSFIGURATION

 **Description:** The gang gets superpowers. It's not as cool as some of them always thought. Alternate Season 9 premiere.

 **Notes:** As I leave tomorrow for a vacation on which I will not have too much spare time to write, the wait for the next update after this one may be a little longer than usual; I apologize for the delay. Thanks again for everybody's kind words, and rest assured I have very much enjoyed reading the feverish speculations! At least one guess will be proven correct in this instalment. As with Pasadena, I have taken liberties with Las Vegas geography in order to get a chapter out the door quicker—apologies if by sheer fluke I have put a commercial establishment right in the middle of somebody's home!

 **Disclaimer:** The author does not own THE BIG BANG THEORY or any of the characters.

\- 9 -

LATHAM HALL, 1645 ORLANDO ROAD, PASADENA, CA

FRIDAY, AUGUST 28, 2015, 6:29 A.M.

 _He stands atop a mountain peak beneath the night sky, the dome of an observatory rearing into the air behind him. The storm that rages above his head is the inevitable side effect of the weakness between dimensions, the product of air exchange across the bulk branes from planets whose temperature is either far higher or far lower than Earth's. It circles above him in a vortex miles wide, a cataclysm trembling on the edge of eruption. Below him, visible through a lensing in space he has set up to bridge the miles, the city he calls home is in flames, smoke towering into the sky in gold-backlit pillars of blackness. Thunder roars across the sky._ Things _swoop and dive over that city, wreaking destruction, havoc, and bloodshed where they go, and having destruction wrought upon them in turn by bursts of power, missile-borne explosive blasts, hurtling dragons of metal spitting cannonfire. The people he once called friends might be in there, fighting that battle. He no longer cares to look for them._

 _At his feet lies the body of the only woman he has ever truly loved. He would weep, but he has wept every tear he has in him; he doubts he will ever weep again. The body is unrecognizeable, blackened and constricted from the heat of fire so intense it was too much for even her to survive, hurled beyond the reach of even his powers by the inexorable bounds of logic. Time travel is possible, he knows that now, but paradox is not: events cannot be made never to happen, or the actions that undo it will lose their cause and cannot take effect. The very tragedies that inspire changing time seal their own irrevocability through that inspiration._

 _But just because his powers cannot undo the past does not mean other powers are likewise so limited. And if the price those powers demanded for their service is something he would once have called an atrocity . . . well, his definition of that term has changed. Why should he care for those so-called innocents? It was the cowardice and callousness of those innocents which tormented him all his life, which allowed this unforgiveable death to happen at all. If their destiny is to perish in misery in exchange for one life, he counts that a fair bargain._

 _The time nears; the vibrating dimensions have almost achieved the correct frequency. He lifts his hands, listening to the chittering scream of whispers in his brain, feeling their eagerness, their hunger, and not caring. He clenches his black-gloved hands, takes hold of the fabric of space and time with his will, and_ —

6:30 A.M.

—Sheldon woke, eyes snapping open, blinking rapidly at the ceiling.

"Well," he said after a moment. " _That_ was strange." He cleared his throat. "Vocal test one, vocal test one," he muttered, and hummed through a set of key pitches, then blew out air through his lips. He grimaced at the taste and feel of his mouth; whoever had put him to bed had done so without waking him to get his teeth brushed. He _hated_ that feeling.

He sat up, and realized several more things at once: he was in his clothes rather than his pajamas; he was in a strange bed and a strange room; and Amy Farrah Fowler was beside him, curled up facing him, her chestnut hair spread across the pillow and her glasses left on the nightstand. For half an instant the blackened, burnt body he'd seen in the dream came back to him, and the insanity of the dream's grief backlashed through him, sharp and strong enough to drown his normal reflex aversion. Before he caught himself he had reached out to touch her shoulder, then her throat and face; at the feel of warmth under his fingers, and the gentle movement of breath and pulse, he let out a sigh of relief.

Then he frowned. Looking closer, he could see Amy's face looked pale and her eyes bruised, as if she'd slept badly or not at all; and her skin felt cooler than usual, yet was simultaneously slick with sweat. He yanked back his hand with a grimace and wiped it on the bedcovers. "Ew," he muttered, "ew, ew, ew." He grabbed a corner of the bedspread and used it to wipe Amy's forehead. "Amy," he murmured. "Amy, wake up, please. Amy."

Amy groaned, stirred, rolled over and blinked herself awake. "Sheldon?" she muttered feebly. "Sheldon, what's wrong? Where are my glasses?"

"Um, they're here. Hold on." He leaned across Amy to grab them from the bedside table; he was not quite able to reach them without having to press some of his weight against her, and the sound of her indrawn breath immediately made him pull back in concern. "Did I hurt you?" he asked as he handed them to her.

"I—no," she said, after a pause and a look he couldn't read. "Thank you." She fitted the glasses onto her face, then sat a moment, breathing slowly and evenly.

"You don't look well," Sheldon told her. "How do you feel?"

"Awful," she eventually reported. "Much the same as when I woke up yesterday, to be honest. The symptoms are nausea, dizziness, fatigue and cold sweat—somewhat evocative of food poisoning, but as I haven't eaten since last night at your mother's and you're not suffering likewise, that seems an unlikely explanation. The other possibilities are that I have come down with an infection of some variety—"

"Contraindicated by your lack of fever," Sheldon noted.

"—or that I am experiencing some backlash from yesterday's exercise of my abilities," Amy finished. "We have, after all, no documented evidence about how people react to infusion with oneirion particles. It could be that—" She stopped, took a few more deep breaths, and went on. "It could very well be that such exposure is lethal and the abilities are merely a short-term phenomenon."

Sheldon frowned. "But then why would you alone show such effects? And so quickly? I feel fine; in fact, physically I've never felt much different. Likewise, none of our friends felt any ill effect either. I would therefore conclude that it is entirely unrelated to your abilities, or—" He stopped, an idea occurring to him. It seemed plausible and was easily tested, but required conditions he wasn't all too keen on. Still, he finally decided, it was worth it to know the answer.

"Amy," he said, and had to take a deep breath and exert some will to continue, "touch me."

Her eyes bugged. "Beg pardon?"

"Just with your bare hand, anywhere on my skin. When you do—think about me. Try to focus your attention entirely on me."

Amy swallowed. "That . . . will be less difficult than you might think." She looked at him. "Does it have to be with my hand?"

Sheldon blinked. "Well, I don't know. I suppose not, but—"

"May I kiss you?"

 _Oh, frickety-frack, not the female hormones again._ Not that kissing Amy wasn't a pleasant experience—he'd been startled to find out how much he enjoyed it, once he actually tried it with some real intent and attention behind it—but the plain truth was, the degree to which everybody else he knew seemed obsessed with it had always put him off, especially since it seemed to be one of those vices the point of which was to deliberately discard the single thing he valued most in all existence: Clear, objective, rational thought. He had first come to treasure Amy's company simply because she'd seemed like the sole other person he'd met in all the world who shared those values.

On the other hand, all the research he'd read suggested that intimate touch had a marvelous therapeutic effect, if supported by genuine affection. And he did want to help Amy. He loved her. Sheldon sighed. "Very well. If I'm right, there's no danger of contagion anyway."

Amy scowled. "You say the most romantic things sometimes, Sheldon," she muttered.

"I know. Sometimes I forget how crazy risk-taking can get girls all riled up." Sheldon dutifully leaned forward, closed his eyes and pushed his lips out. After a moment, he felt Amy's mouth make contact, and barely restrained a grimace. Her lips felt dry and rough, like she hadn't used her lip balm for days, and tasted of nothing except . . . well, _her._ He wondered how long it would take to—

 _Zing!_ The sensation was like a static shock, except zipping from the soles of his feet through his head and out through his lips rather than stinging solely at point of contact. Amy jerked back, colour flooding her face; she shook her head, blinked, and then sat up, a surprised smile lighting up her eyes. To his own shock, Sheldon found himself wondering what it would be like to kiss her again now, and firmly got his wandering mind under control. That kind of time-wasting wasn't necessary now, if he was right. "I assume you feel better now?" he said.

"Uh . . . yes. Yes, I do. What happened?"

"I believe—" Sheldon got to his feet and dusted off his hands "—that we've discovered another critical parameter of your power, Amy. Yesterday, you were able to copy my powers and bring our friends to my mother's house, _after_ you touched me in what I am guessing to be worry for me following Raj's loss of control over _his_ power. Then, during the fight with the riot police, you touched Penny, again afraid for her, and copied her powers, replacing mine. You have now slept for at least six hours, and woke up with your initial post-coma symptoms returned, symptoms that dissipated immediately upon touching me again while focusing on me. Now, I want you to watch closely. Can you do what I'm doing now?" Sheldon went to the bedroom wall and, after some thought, opened a contiguity back to the lab downstairs, positioning it on an outer wall next to the elevator.

Amy's brow furrowed, but after a moment, she got up, went to the wall and drew a second rectangle on it, just as Sheldon had done. Sheldon could see the coordinates of space-time shift under her will, and the contiguity opened as smoothly for her as it had for him. He repressed a slight trace of jealousy—he never enjoyed realizing that other people could do something he liked as well as he could—and nodded. "Just as I thought. Your copied powers clearly dissipate following a minimum period of sleep, or perhaps unconsciousness of any type, and failing to duplicate a power leaves you in a state of physical ill-health. For the time being, you're going to have to make sure to copy at least one of us at your earliest opportunity each day."

"Oh. Well." Amy blinked. "Well, I suppose that's better than some possibilities." She bit her lip. "How bad do you think things could get? I mean, suppose I woke up and there was nobody around to duplicate a power from—how long would I have before . . . well, before I'd have to start worrying?"

Sheldon shook his head. "I have no idea, Amy. It could be these negative symptoms are merely some mode of biological after-reaction, like a hangover, and will fade given sufficient recovery time. Or it could be that they indicate some kind of neurological degeneration or toxic withdrawal, and a sufficiently long period without duplicating another's ability would harm or even kill you. We have no way to know without testing."

Amy nodded, then glanced through the still-open portals and did a double-take. "Wait a moment—is that Howard? Oh, my God, he's been down there all night." She walked through the portal she'd created and into the lab. Sheldon felt slightly miffed—he'd as good as opened the door for her first, was his work not good enough for her to use?—but followed anyway. With every step the sweaty feel of his clothes rubbed his skin, and he fought to repress a grimace of disgust. _Oh, Lord, I don't even know where the washrooms are in this place._ And he had _no_ guarantee the domestic staff weren't slipshod corner-cutters who ignored bathroom mould until threatened.

Howard was alone in the lab, asleep and snoring, his head resting on his arms inside the bottom of the holotank display. Above and around him in the tank, a schematic blinked in lines of gold and red: one part of it seemed to centre around some kind of flanged horizontal platform, while the other was a flat cylindrical object the size of a large hockey puck or a small smoke alarm. On the bench next to him sat what looked like real-world versions of the designs: the flanged platforms were metal, adorned with blocks and cases of circuitry with lights flashing green, and lined on the bottom with a crosshatch of inlaid black lines from which tiny metal rings projected at every crossing point. Thin black cables ran from the platforms to the cylindrical object, which looked like it had been clumsily glued to a strap of Velcro. Two large double-D batteries had been slotted into the centre of the device, and at the sight Sheldon's momentary excitement died. He had to admit that he had thought, just for a second, that Howard might have turned his modest technical competence to something useful and built an arc reactor like Tony Stark's, but Tony Stark would never have built anything that ran off Duracell. Frowning, he called up the design program and began reviewing the specifications Howard had coded.

"Howard." Amy shook him gently, then more firmly. "Howard."

"Ma, no, it's Saturday, I don't have school," Howard mumbled.

Amy snorted out an exasperated breath and hit him on the back of the head. " _Howard!_ "

"Uh!" Howard jackknifed upright, blinking. "Ah, no, Bernie, I knew it was you all along, I, uh—!" He shook his head, rubbed at his eyes, and finally looked around. "Oh. Uh, hi, Amy. Sheldon." He frowned. "What are you guys still doing up?"

"Howard, we've been to bed and come back," said Amy. "It's six-thirty in the morning."

Howard's eyebrows went up. "Really? Wow." Suddenly he looked distressed. "Ohhhh, crap. I promised Bernie I'd be up in fifteen minutes. Oh, boy, she's gonna be pissed . . . ."

"I think I may be able to convince her to forgive you," said Sheldon, still staring at Howard's code. He felt absolutely poleaxed, and wondered for a moment if this was how normal people felt around him. That anybody other than he himself had done this was astonishing in itself; that it had been _Howard_ , of all people . . . . "Howard, do you remember what you did last night?"

Howard snorted. "Oh, boy. Been a while since I've been asked _that_ question. Um . . . ." He massaged his temples, squeezed his eyes shut, and sighed. "Bits and pieces. I remember being really excited, and I'm pretty sure I yelled 'Eureka' at one point, but—" He stopped as his eyes fell upon the devices lying on the workbench. "Um. Uh, what're those, exactly?"

"I don't know," Sheldon had to admit. Oh, he hated doing stuff like this. But he had to give credit where credit was due: that was the obligation of the social contract. "But large components of it appear to involve the use of room-temperature superconducting cobalt-doped graphene ribbons. The formula for which you've written here on this computer."

Howard's mouth fell open. "Room-temperature what?" he said flatly.

Sheldon tapped the relevant section of code, where the fabricator instructions had been written. "And you also appear to have included a magnetic circuit designed to reproduce the wakefield acceleration effect in miniature," he went on. "Ramp this up and get a decent power source in there, you really could be a Ghostbuster, and walk around with an unlicensed nuclear accelerator on your back." He tried a smile, and could only assume from the cringing look on Howard's face that it was as much of a success as usual.

"Room-temperature superconductors?" A stunned grin spread over Amy's face. "Howard, do you have any _idea_ how this will change the world? What am I saying, of course you do, you're an engineer! Oh, we have to come up with a name for this; Bernadette was right, we'll have to copyright it. Oh! Oh, I've got the perfect name: the Wolowitz Universal Superconducting System!"

"So . . . the WUSS," said Sheldon. Howard's grin collapsed.

Amy looked sheepish. "Okay, okay, um, how about: the Wolowitz Harmonic Induction Node Engine."

"The WHINE," said Sheldon. Howard put his hand to his forehead.

Amy grimaced. "All right, um, how about the Wolowitz Induction Engine Node Exothermic Repeater?"

"The WIENER?" said Sheldon. "Amy, are you _trying_ to embarrass the poor man? Clearly the only possible name can be the Wolowitz Amplifying Node Generator."

Amy blinked, then grinned as she suddenly got his joke. "Yes, of course, you're right. For the rest of time, the entire world will know what they have to thank for their technological prosperity: Howard's WANG."

"Okay, _that's it!_ " Howard exploded. "I remember now what I was trying to do; I fell asleep before I could get this properly tested, but you, my kindergarten-level humour-impaired friends, are about to witness the work of true genius." He wedged his shoes into the flanged platforms, and Sheldon finally realized what they reminded him of: old-fashioned roller skates without the wheels. Grabbing up the cylindrical object, he wrapped its Velcro strap round his wrist, then flipped a switch. The light on the cylinder turned green. Setting his feet down in the metal platforms, Howard put one hand to the cylinder and grinned fiercely at them. "Everybody who ever got pissed they hadn't invented Marty McFly's hoverboards by 2015, suck on _this._ "

He gave the outside of the cylinder a sharp twist. Sheldon had half an instant to hear an extremely high-pitched whine spike piercingly through his eardrum before Howard's feet shot upwards, out from under him, and flipped him over onto his back. Shimmers of force pulsed from the bottoms of the metal platforms, driving him into motion and pushing him along the floor towards the wall. Yelping, Howard flailed around as Sheldon and Amy ran after him; he had almost reached the far wall before he managed to grab the cable leading from the cylinder and yank it out. The high-pitched whine vanished and he skidded to a stop on the floor, breathing heavily.

"Okay," he said after a moment, looking up at them. "Few bugs, but good alpha test, don't you think?"

7:22 A.M.

"You built _anti-gravity boots?_ " repeated Bernadette in a squeak, her eyes wide.

"Technically—mmph—they're _counter_ -gravity _skates_ ," said Howard, barely pausing between mouthfuls of the eggs and bacon that Kieran the valet had brought to the dining room. "The wakefield coil in the power cylinder creates a minuscule space-time distortion that draws an oneirion flow right out of the quantum foam, which is practically equivalent to a matter-antimatter energy liberation except a whole lot stabler and more controllable, the oneirions flow to the skates via superconductor, and then the nanocoils on the skate soles convert them into pseudo-gravitons that impart kinetic momentum upwards, or forwards if you lean forward enough to change the orientation of the coils against Earth's natural gravity field. Control the energy input, you can control the force with which you accelerate against gravity, so you rise or fall, or go faster or slower if you angle forwards or backwards." He swallowed another mouthful and swigged from his coffee cup. "It's kind of like surfing on waterspouts, except the water's nothing but kinetic force and air."

"And you can basically have all the energy you want, subject to the access and conduction limits of your system," said Leonard, feeling stunned. "You realize you just solved all Earth's power problems as well, right, Howard?"

"Ehhh," said Howard, tilting one hand back and forth in a so-so gesture. "The big problem is that you can't seem to create a closed loop, or at least I couldn't figure out how to do it; if you try to power the wakefield coil or the boson converters with energy converted from an oneirion flow, you get some kind of direct feedback effect and the loop collapses back to a zero-state balance. And oneirions can't power anything in themselves, you have to convert them back to one of the other four forces before you can do anything with them. Upshot is, you can _access_ more energy but you can't _create_ it, and you still need a separate independent power source for both your access coil and your converters. The battery industry isn't going out of business any time soon." He looked thoughtful. "Uranium and fossil fuels might get a whole lot cheaper, though, because with this kind of magnifier in your engines you can get a lot more bang for your buck."

Leonard and Penny exchanged glances. "I have to say," Penny admitted, "that's gonna sound more impressive at a press conference than anything I got. Nano this, quantum that—what am I gonna tell everybody? 'I think about flying, and I fly'? That's not much of a tweet." Looking a little morose, she finished her croissant.

"I think you underestimate the degree to which people are going to care about that aspect of it," said Leonard, wanting to cheer her up. "Remember, everybody out there is going to recognize you and Amy as the Angels who saved a bunch of FBI agents."

"Who would never have been in danger in the first place if we hadn't been there," pointed out Amy.

"If they hadn't _run into you trying to kill you_ ," said Leonard forcefully. He turned over ideas in his head. "Look, Penny, here's a thought. Do you remember a few years ago, somebody made a YouTube video that was like a 'found footage' GoPro video of Superman flying around? What we should do is get you one of those, then have you do a live broadcast of your flight at the press conference. _That'll_ be one heck of a PR moment. 'See the world the way the Angel sees it.' What do you say?"

Penny looked at Bernadette and Amy; both women nodded encouragingly. With a slow but genuine smile Penny looked back to Leonard. "Actually, that does sound like a pretty cool idea. Thanks, Leonard. You're a lifesaver."

"Well, I _am_ your sidekick; that's my job." Leonard blew on his fingernails and buffed them on his shirt, then took a slice of toast and began spreading margarine and marmalade on it. Penny laughed.

Sheldon drew himself up, looking indignant. "Excuse me, Leonard, but the Roommate Agreement specifically states you are to be _my_ sidekick, at least until such time as you develop powers of your own or go out under your own hero identity."

"Oh, I know, I'll still be your sidekick too," said Leonard airily. "Nothing says I can't be Penny's sidekick as well. I checked the Agreement, Sheldon; there are no noncompetition clauses."

Sheldon opened his mouth, then closed it with a disgruntled look. "Drat," he said. "That never occurred to me. Whoever heard of a part-time sidekick?"

"Technically all superhero jobs are part-time, really," said Raj, as he and Lucy came into the dining room and took seats at the table. Leonard noted that despite Raj's request for separate rooms, they'd been holding hands when they entered, and couldn't really muster much surprise. "Think about it; they're flex hours, no benefits, no training, no certification, definitely no overtime pay, and you always have to fit them in among your other commitments. What Leonard would be, technically, is a time-share sidekick. Is there any oatmeal left?"

"Uh," Leonard looked, "no, but there's cold cereal. Oh, and Howard invented anti-gravity boots."

" _Counter_ -gravity _skates_ ," said Howard, rolling his eyes, though he was not quite able to repress a grin. "Get it right."

"Oh my God," said Raj, and held out his hands to Howard, his eyes wide. "Oh my God, that's it, Howard! That's your power! You're a supergenius inventor, like Tony Stark! Now all we need for you is a suit of armour, and you'll be ready to kick ass like the rest of us!"

"Yes, and he can be known around the world as Iron Mensch," said Sheldon acidly, finishing his cereal. "Tony Stark was independently wealthy and had been designing weapons and armour since childhood. We're working in a borrowed lab with borrowed funds and borrowed materiel, and we don't have a handy artificial intelligence with the voice of Paul Bettany already running on our local network. I think we've got a long way to go before Howard gets his own comic book, Raj."

Howard gave him a sour look. "You really just have a chronic difficulty with letting people enjoy things, don't you, Sheldon?"

"Ignore him," said Leonard. "He's just jealous that somebody else figured out the first practical applications of his theory before he did. Besides, Howard, you already married your Pepper Potts, and she's hotter than Gwyneth Paltrow any day." He grinned at Bernadette, who blushed and smiled back. Howard looked caught halfway between exasperation and amusement, but after a moment he leaned in to kiss her, which she gladly reciprocated.

Penny hit him lightly on the arm. "Hey," she said, though she was smiling too. "No flirting with other men's wives. Especially not when you haven't even gotten around to marrying me, yet."

Leonard shrugged. If that wasn't a perfect opening, he was an NFL quarterback. "Well, now that you mention it . . . I was thinking that since everybody's here and none of us is going to work today—what would everybody say to a day trip to Vegas?"

That silenced the table. Penny stared at him. "Wait—you're serious?"

"Hey, I said first chance we got, and I meant it." He smiled at her, and was rewarded with a delighted grin that made her green eyes sparkle. God, he loved this woman.

"Um . . . aren't we still wanted fugitives?" Howard pointed to the window. "Ten to one there's like, at least, six agents staking this place out ready to jump on us the instant we show our faces."

"So we don't show our faces," said Leonard patiently. "We book one of those limo SUVs to pick us up at some place Sheldon knows, and Sheldon opens a wormhole to it. And the great thing is that we don't even need the limo to take us back; we can just jump straight back here."

"We would still need proper clothes," objected Raj. "Tuxedos and dresses and that sort of thing. Where do we go for that?"

Penny scoffed. "Oh, sweetie, are you serious? Clothes shopping is like my superpower." She stopped, looking sheepish, as everyone stared at her. "Okay, well, I guess it's _one_ of my superpowers, now. No, but seriously, I will be able to find us everything we need."

"And who pays for this?" interjected Sheldon. "Leonard, you know I hate being a wet blanket—you know, you wouldn't choke if you didn't eat so fast—but the FBI is probably watching all our accounts by now for activity, if they haven't just frozen them solid. One transaction in Vegas and they'll know where to send everybody to find us."

Leonard took a sip of water to clear his lungs. "Well," he said after he finished, "I actually mentioned to Mrs. Latham, when I saw her this morning, that part of our research might involve unforeseen expenses. Which is why she gave me this." With a magician's flourish, he produced the silver-coloured credit card from his pocket. "Corporate expense card, on which account my name's been added as an authorized user, but which flags on use as Latham Industries. If we promise to reimburse Mrs. Latham later, I think we can afford one day's worth of non-work-related expenses. Besides, happy researchers are effective researchers." He put the card down on the table and leaned forward, looking around at everyone. "Look, guys, everything in our lives has turned completely upside down. I want our wedding to be a touchstone for what's really important: our friends, and our family. Please come with us. Please."

The group exchanged looks. Amy cleared her throat. "I, uh, I just have one question." Leonard made a "go on" gesture, and a radiant grin broke out on her face. "Can I be your maid of honour, Penny?"

"Oh, God, of course." Penny rubbed at her eyes, which were suspiciously bright and wet. "I guess that means Sheldon's going to be the best man?"

"Wasn't I always?" said Sheldon. Before Leonard could sputter out a sufficiently coherent answer, he suddenly grinned. "Bazinga. Leonard, I would be honoured to take the role of your best man, as long as I'm exempted from any duties involving dance rehearsals, speech making, organizing of bachelor parties up to and including the hiring of strippers, entertainment of guests, religious sponsorship, and marrying the bride in your place in the event of your death or loss of sexual potency." Then his smile vanished into a meaningful glare. "Seriously, Leonard, if you even _think_ about giving the job to Wolowitz or Koothrappali we are going to have some _serious_ renegotiations of our friendship clauses."

SWEET ETERNITY CHAPEL AND MOTOR INN, 942 SPRING MOUNTAIN ROAD, LAS VEGAS, NEVADA

7:17 P.M.

In the event, it had all gone ridiculously smoothly.

They'd booked the limo and the chapel on line, Sheldon had opened a wormhole to their designated pickup spot (the mall where his preferred Pottery Barn was located, as the unlikeliest location someone would think to watch for them), and by nine o'clock the nine of them (Mary struck dumb by the act of stepping through the wormhole) had been on the road. They'd arrived at the Las Vegas Strip a little past one and stopped for lunch; after that, Mary and Penny had taken the boys through a tuxedo-rental shop (a process that took less than an hour) and dragged the girls through what felt like every classy dress shop on the Strip (a process that took nearly four hours). Then came another break for dinner and to book rooms in a hotel ("I am _not_ having my wedding night in a house that belongs in a Bond movie!" insisted Penny), where they had changed, and then a pleasant stroll down the Strip, taking in the sights, sounds and smells of the beautiful Las Vegas evening. As if nature herself were helping out, a fresh breeze and a rainstorm yesterday had broken the late summer heatwave, and the cool evening sky was a glorious tumult of red, gold, blue and grey. Sharply dressed in his tuxedo, Penny laughing and clinging to his arm, and his friends around him, Leonard had felt like the past few months had never happened, like everything had gone back to normal—no, to better than normal; to perfect.

Then they'd gotten to the chapel, well ahead of time for their booked eight o'clock ceremony, and Mary, Amy, Bernadette and Lucy had taken Penny away to the bride's waiting room to get her into her full bridal regalia while the guys waited in the groomsmen's chamber. And, of course, Leonard's nerves had picked precisely _that_ moment to kick in. Suddenly he couldn't sit still, pacing back and forth. His forehead shone with sweat, and he'd had to unbutton his shirt and dry himself with a hand-towel no fewer than three times already. His stomach was doing an admirable rendition of the lead ballerina in _Swan Lake_. "How the hell did you keep your head together through _your_ wedding?" he demanded of Howard, who was stretched out on a sofa and seemed to be getting entirely too much amusement out of watching him fight not to freak out. "I refuse to believe you're less neurotic than I am."

Howard shrugged. "Well, I had a couple of advantages," he said airily. "One, I was scheduled for a space launch two days after the ceremony, so I was saving all my hysteria for that. Two, I was too scared of upsetting Bernie's father and too annoyed with my mother to worry about little things like the rest of my life. And three, I actually have something resembling self-esteem."

"He's right, Leonard." Raj nodded from his armchair. "You could have nailed this all down like three to four years ago if you'd gotten past the whole needy-lack-of-confidence thing sooner."

"At least I mastered the art of talking while sober to women who weren't related to me before I was _thirty_ ," Leonard muttered, glancing skyward. Raj scowled at him.

Sheldon snorted. "The record suggests that 'mastered' might be an overly generous assessment of your capacities in that area, Leonard."

Leonard closed his eyes and took several deep breaths. He'd intended it solely to keep himself from losing his temper, but it actually did help settle his stomach somewhat. "Okay, guys, please don't take this the wrong way, but is there any chance I could ask you all to leave me alone for five minutes? Just—go down to that little bar next door and have a drink. I just need a few minutes to myself."

Howard's eyebrows went up. "Uh-oh," he said in a mock undertone. "The groom doesn't want anybody to see him. Do I detect cold feet and a washroom-window escape?"

"Dude, not funny!" Raj hit Howard on the shoulder. "That's bad enough when it only happens on a date, and I should know. So should you, for that matter." He turned to Leonard. "Of course we will. Take all the time you need. As long as it's not, you know, long enough for us to lose the timeslot for the ceremony. I don't want those rose petals I bought to go to waste."

Leonard sighed. "I suppose I should just be grateful you didn't buy the six dozen live doves."

Raj gave him a pointed look. "Hey, Leonard, just to let you know? When you snark right at me like that, it's like rubbing sandpaper behind my eyes." He tapped his temple. "And not in the wholly metaphorical way it used to be, either. Come on, Howard. I'm going to see if they can make a decent Grasshopper at that bar." He got up and left; Howard rose, clapped Leonard on the shoulder and followed him out.

Sheldon lingered at the door. "Leonard," he said after a moment, "I apologize for cutting into your private time, but this is the first opportunity I've had all day to discuss something in confidence with you, and I strongly suspect you are the only person who will understand this and take this seriously. May I please take a few minutes to do so?"

Leonard blinked. "Uh—sure, buddy. What's the problem?"

"I had a bad dream this morning."

Leonard closed his eyes again. It took no less than six deep breaths this time to get himself back to a place of control, if not calm. "Sheldon: why is your bad dream a priority _now?_ "

"Because it was wholly atypical of my dreaming pattern both in intensity and content. And given the capacities that our lab accident seems to have unlocked in me . . . ." Sheldon looked uncomfortable, almost as much so as when he'd admitted he had planned to propose to Amy. "I have to wonder if perhaps it was—well—temporally sensitive. Precognitory."

That was unusual enough to make Leonard forget his irritation. His eyebrows went up. "Well. You better tell me about it, then."

Sheldon did. Even in his normal emotionless tone, the description made the hairs on Leonard's arm and neck stand up. "It's possible it may not be a literal depiction of future events, of course," Sheldon admitted when he finished. "It may not even be an actual precognition. But the pain I felt when I thought about Amy being dead . . . ." He stopped, and looked away. With shock, Leonard saw Sheldon actually swallow with the effort of controlling himself. "I wish to forestall anything even close to that eventuality."

Leonard rubbed his chin, thinking. "Hang on a minute. You said you couldn't see who the dead woman actually was. This is gonna sound weird, but did you ever see _yourself_ in the dream? Maybe the 'you' who was doing this wasn't actually Sheldon Cooper. Maybe it was somebody else."

Sheldon blinked. "Oh. I never thought about that." He frowned. "Why would I see a vision of somebody _else's_ future, though? How could that possibly be important?"

"There _are_ other important people than yourself in the world, Sheldon."

Sheldon shrugged, still frowning. "Well, I suppose."

Leonard sighed. "Look, buddy, I'm glad you told me. And yeah, it's _possible_ it might be some kind of flash-forward timeline glimpse, it's possible it might be you in a really bad place after Amy—well, never mind that. But we don't know enough to make it worth worrying about. Okay? If it happens again, tell me. Otherwise, I think our sample set's too small to infer any valid hypothesis."

Sheldon nodded slowly. Then he gave a sudden, startling smile, so warm and affectionate it was almost like he'd become another person. "You always know just how to reassure me, Leonard. Thank you." He went to the door, then paused. "And since I haven't said this formally yet: Congratulations, Leonard. I'm very happy for you and Penny, and I hope you have a wonderful life together. I love you both."

Leonard gulped down an unexpectedly thick lump in his throat. His vision blurred. Oh, God, it really _was_ too damn easy to make him cry, wasn't it? "Thanks, buddy. I'll see you guys in a few minutes."

The room was unexpectedly quiet in the wake of Sheldon's departure. Leonard found himself pacing back and forth again, and with a forced sigh made himself sit down on the couch. _Calm down_ , he told himself, _calm down._ This was perfectly normal wedding-day jitters. In just a few minutes, he'd be marrying Penny. He stared at the wall. Oh, God, it was actually happening. He and Penny were going to be _married._ He was going to have a _wife_ , to be a _husband_. And maybe—someday not too far down the road—he was going to be a _father._ God knew, if there was a God, he was going to make damn sure he was a better father than his own had been.

 _Oh, God, Penny, I love you so much._ He blinked away the tears, letting them run down his face. He was going to have to dry his face; if Penny saw he'd been crying she'd only spend the entire ceremony trying not to snigger at him. His mouth curved into a smile at the thought.

A quiet knock came at the door. Leonard frowned, looking up. Who could this be? He got up, went to the door and swung it open. The heavyset, bald, suited man at the door was a stranger, standing with his hands behind him like an obsequious maitre'd. "Dr. Leonard Hofstadter?" he said in a deep voice.

"Yes, that's me," Leonard said automatically. "Can I help you?"

Without answering, the big man swung one hand out from behind him with shocking speed and jabbed something hard into Leonard's neck; he had time only to hear the teeth-rattling _buzz_ and then his entire body went stiff in a searing spasm of eye-blurring agony. It lasted some few seconds that felt like an hour, and then he was falling, hitting the carpet in a limp, juddering mass, skin aflame from scalp to toe with blazing tingles of pain. His limbs would not answer him. His trousers felt damp. Absurdly, the only thought that came to mind was _Oh, no, don't tell me I pissed my rented tux. The drycleaning for that'll be murder . . . ._

Footsteps sounded as a second person came in. "Got him?" asked a sharp, unpleasant voice.

"Clean hit," confirmed the big man. "Hang on." A lance of bright silver pain spiked through Leonard's left buttock; all he could manage was a weak moan. Then the pain stopped, and numbness began to spread in rippling waves from the point where the needle had gone in. "Okay, that'll keep him down for a good hour or two. Let's go."

Leonard felt himself being lifted without effort by frighteningly powerful arms. His vision blurred out like an old-fashioned vacuum-tube monitor powering down. _No, no, no_ , he wanted to scream, _not now, not again, please, I just want to get married! Isn't anybody ever going to let me and Penny get married?! Isn't . . . anybody . . . ?_

The world dissolved into darkness.


	10. Chapter 10

THE METAHUMAN TRANSFIGURATION

 **Description:** The gang gets superpowers. It's not as cool as some of them always thought. Alternate Season 9 premiere.

 **Notes:** Thank you to everyone for waiting so patiently! Particular thanks to reader joann4172, who reviewed each and every chapter; reading your messages was a bright spot on my vacation. I'd like to start by noting that although this chapter doesn't _quite_ cross fully into M territory—there's only a little explicit physical violence, no death, no sexual content and only the occasional profanity ( _diermo_ , by the by, is my transliteration for the Russian word for "s**t")—it definitely verges on it, by being a great deal darker and more intense than anything in the show or the story so far. There are some fairly unpleasant moments in here, some of our heroes make some morally questionable decisions, and the chapter ends on something of a down note, so if you're not into that sort of thing I might recommend skimming this one. For those interested in my head-casting, I imagine Michael Chiklis as Joe, Kevin J. O'Connor as Sammy, and Jason Alexander as Rozokov. (That's the great thing about fanfic; I can cast whoever I want without worrying about affordability or availability.)

 **Disclaimer:** The author does not own THE BIG BANG THEORY or any of the characters.

\- 10 -

SWEET ETERNITY CHAPEL AND MOTOR INN, LAS VEGAS, NEVADA

FRIDAY, AUGUST 28, 2015, 8:11 P.M.

When Howard, Raj, and Sheldon had come back to the groomsmen's room and found it empty, they had all assumed after some discussion that Leonard had probably gone to the men's washroom to ride out nerve-induced gut cramps—"I swear on my mother's Bible I will never understand that man's bowels," Sheldon had exclaimed in disgust. They'd given him as much time as possible, but at a minute to eight, Howard had finally banged on the washroom door and called through it.

There had been no answer. The door had been unlocked. The room itself had been empty, and while there was a window, it was both locked and far too small for even the undersized Leonard to have squirmed through. At that point the serious search had begun, both within the building and outside it. But the Sweet Eternity was not a large establishment, and ten minutes later it was finally beginning to sink into Penny's brain: Leonard was gone.

Her bridal skirt poofing fluffily around her waist and her veil crumpled in her hands, Penny huddled into herself on the divan in the bride's room as the others argued back and forth around her, too numb even to cry. _Not again,_ was all she could think. _Not again._

"You're absolutely _sure_ nobody saw him leave?" Howard demanded of the owner-minister, a grey-haired fellow in a bolo tie. "You checked with all your staff?"

The minister huffed in exasperation and called to his assistant, a short balding fellow who was passing outside the door. "Donny, have I checked with all the onsite staff? You, Holly Mae, Rebecca, José?"

"Yessir, Reverend Tomlinson, you have," said Donny promptly, stopping in the doorway.

"And did anybody say they'd seen Dr. Hofstadter leave? Was anybody even near the back exit, since that's the only way he could've left without anybody seein'?"

"Nossir, nobody at all," Donny confirmed.

"Whoa, whoa, stop," Howard snapped. "How the hell do you know that just because they _said_ they weren't near the back exit, they weren't?"

Tomlinson stiffened angrily. "You callin' my people liars, sir?"

As the argument continued, Mary sat down beside Penny, putting an arm around her. "Oh, sweetheart, I am so sorry," she murmured. "Whatever happened, this ain't how you want a wedding day to go, is it? How are you doing?"

Penny shook her head slowly. "I . . . I don't know," she whispered. "God, Mary, I was just so certain we were finally _past_ this kind of crap. I mean, you saw him all day, same as I did! The way he planned all this out, the way everybody was so happy while we were getting everything together—it wasn't like our last try at all. I wasn't even getting annoyed by _Sheldon._ " She sniffed and scrubbed at her face. "But . . . I don't know what else to think. You heard the way the guys said he was acting. What else could it be? Why else would he have bailed on us?" She choked back a sob. "On _me?_ "

"Oh, honey . . . ." Mary squeezed Penny's shoulders. "If there's one thing I know about Leonard, it's that he loves you, and he's _never_ gonna stop lovin' you. Look, the best of men get cold feet. And, well, I've met Leonard's mother . . . ." Her voice hardened. "God forgive me for speaking ill of someone behind her back, but that woman'd leave the Blessed Jesus thinkin' He wasn't good enough for the human race, she'd had the raising of Him. Maybe he just had to face down one last burst of self-doubt. I mean, it's not like someone would have just walked in and kidnapped him, would they?"

Penny shrugged helplessly. "I don't know, Mary, I . . . ." She trailed off. Raj had suddenly stiffened, his head up, and was turning slowly. Blinking, Penny watched as he rotated to stare at Tomlinson's assistant, Donny, who was listening quietly to Howard and Tomlinson arguing. Then, without any warning at all, Raj suddenly strode forward, grabbed Donny by the shoulders and slammed him against the wall hard enough that the impact silenced all noise in the room.

" _You_ ," Raj snarled through gritted teeth, in a tone Penny had literally never heard him use before in her life. "Why are you lying to us?"

"Ex- _cuse_ me!" said Tomlinson. "What the heck are you doin' to my—?!"

He vanished in mid-word. Sheldon lowered his hand and stepped closer to where Raj had pinned Donny against the wall, nodding at Donny's bulging eyes. "I see you've grasped some basic idea of the capacities you're dealing with, sir," he stated. "Raj, are you certain he's lying?"

"When Mrs. Cooper talked about someone kidnapping Leonard," Raj growled. "I felt it go up from his mind like a flare—shock, and fear, and recognition. In words it would be something like _Oh shit, they know._ " He shook Donny hard again. "What do you know, you Vishnu-damned piece of crap? _Did_ someone kidnap Leonard? Where did they take him?"

"Wait a minute." Penny threw her veil onto the couch, strode forward, then stumbled over the puffy skirt; with a snarl she unsnapped the buttons and shoved it down her legs until she could step out of it. Heedless of wearing only underwear, stockings and heels below her embroidered white top, she reached past Raj, knotted her hand in Donny's shirt and lifted him completely off the floor, slamming him against the wall harder than Raj ever had. Donny's head banged the wall, and his eyes glazed. "Do you know who I am, buddy?" she said, marvelling at how calm her own voice sounded. "I'm one of the people who saved a crashing FBI copter in Pasadena yesterday by catching it with my bare hands. I'm the Angel. And if you don't start talking, I'm gonna be an avenging angel. Now." Suddenly she drew back her hand and slammed him into the wall again and again, screaming a word with each impact: " _Where! Is! My! Fiancé?!_ "

" _Penny! Stop!_ " Mary pulled at her arm, with utter futility; she might have been pulling at a stone statue. Before she could smack Mary aside, though, Donny vanished from under Penny's grip and reappeared about two yards over, where he immediately crumpled to the floor. Furious, Penny rounded on Sheldon, but stopped when she saw him step backwards in fear, hands raised. With difficulty, she made herself lower her arms, though she did not unclench her fists.

"I know how hard to hit someone, Sheldon," she gritted. "He'll be fine."

"I'm sorry, Penny, but given your history of violence I think you can understand my reluctance to take the chance," said Sheldon quickly. "And while I have absolutely no concern for this man's welfare, the fact remains that at present he's the only person who can tell us who might have Leonard—which he _cannot_ do if he is unconscious or dead. Agreed?"

Mary touched Penny's arm again, this time only making contact without pressure. "You know he's right, sweetheart," she murmured. Penny glanced at Amy and Bernadette, who both nodded, and finally she let herself slump, hands relaxing. With a sigh of relief, Mary jerked her head at Donny and gave the girls a quick look. Lucy hurried to the bridal room's door and locked it, while Amy and Bernadette knelt down and checked Donny with deft hands.

A thread of worry wove through Penny's bubbling anger. "Oh, shit, I didn't actually put this guy into a coma, did I?"

Bernadette scowled down at the dazed Donny, but shook her head. "With this goose egg he's probably got a minor concussion, but I don't think we're going to lose him yet." She began slapping the man's cheeks lightly and chafing his wrists. "Give me a few minutes to get him a little more alert . . . ."

"Actually, I, uh, have an idea on that," said Lucy. "'Scuse me—" She ducked through the closed door, and in less than a minute was back, a brimming glass of water in her hand. Without ceremony she dumped it on Donny's face; he spluttered and blinked awake. Then he caught sight of Penny and frantically scrabbled backwards, stopped only by the wall. Penny knelt down to look him in the eye.

"Okay," she said softly. "Let's try this one more time. Now you know what we can do to you. Are you going to tell us what happened to my fiancé?"

Donny swallowed, then grimaced, touching his head. "I'm sorry," he blurted. "I'm so sorry, it's not—I wasn't—"

Without changing expression, Penny reached over, grabbed the wooden leg of a nearby armchair with one hand, and snapped it off in a single quick twist. The chair fell over as Penny positioned the sharp, splintery end of the chair leg over Donny's knee. "Last chance, Donny," she hissed, "before you get to find out if your disability insurance covers pissed-off superheroes."

"I _can't!_ " Donny wailed. "Look, I'm sorry, I never wanted it to be like this but I _can't_ tell you! I owe people money, and part of how I pay 'em back is to tip them off to customers they might wanna know about—well, I recognized the name from the news when you booked it earlier, and they said he was worth enough to clear my debt all by himself. All I had to do was let two guys in through the back, then let them out again with your boyfriend. But I tell you who these people are or where they are, they go after my family. You get me?" Chest heaving, Donny pushed himself up until he was sitting upright. "Lady, maybe you can put your fist through my skull. That ain't gonna do a damn thing to keep my family safe. No matter what you threaten, you can't scare me more than they do." He trailed off, breaths still gasping, staring straight into Penny's eyes without blinking.

Penny didn't answer for a long time. Finally she stirred, withdrawing the chair leg. "No," she admitted. "You're right. I probably can't scare you that much."

Then she looked over her shoulder. "Raj."

It took Raj a second to understand. His eyes widened. "Penny—I don't know if I can—"

"Raj. This is for Leonard."

Howard, who by the pallor of his face had also understood, took a deep breath and squared his shoulders. "Sheldon, Mrs. Cooper—girls—maybe we should wait outside." He held out his hands to Amy and Bernadette; after a moment, they both took hold, and he pulled them to their feet. Lucy followed as Howard led them outside, though the distressed look she threw back to Raj seemed almost more fear _for_ him than _of_ him. Sheldon left the room as well, carefully staring at nothing in a way Penny knew had to be deliberate.

Mary hesitated in the doorway. "Rajesh, you know this is wrong," she said. "You both do, don't you?"

Penny's fist clenched. The wooden chair leg in her hand burst into splinters and fell apart; she wiped her hand down on her blouse, leaving a trail of dust and shreds across the shining white embroidery. "Mrs. Cooper," she said flatly, "right now, I absolutely do not give a fuck." The glare she threw Mary wilted any response. The older woman blanched.

"I know," she whispered. "I just pray to God you will later." With that, she closed the door carefully behind her.

Raj knelt beside Penny and nodded to Donny. "Hold him down," he muttered, sounding almost afraid, or ashamed. Penny sat on Donny's knees and put her hands on his shoulders, pushing him into the wall, though without the brutal slam she'd used earlier. Bewildered, Donny stared at her, and then at Raj as the astrophysicist leaned forward. Their eyes locked. Raj's face set in a steady, iron-hard glare.

For a moment Penny thought nothing was happening. Then she saw the colour draining from Donny's face, and felt his body beginning to shiver under her hands. Donny's eyes bulged, widening further and further until she half thought they might fall from his skull and roll away. His breathing hitched, speeding up as the waves of terror Raj sent into him grew ever stronger. And then he began to scream. Raj closed his eyes, grimacing as if something was ripping his guts out. Donny's screams did not stop. He began to buck and thrash, flailing upward against Penny's grip with such strength even her power couldn't hold him entirely—she weighed no more than she had, and without leverage she couldn't keep him still. She rode him like a bucking bronco and grimly closed her ears to the screaming.

At last, after what felt like half an hour but in reality was only about thirty seconds, Raj gasped and relaxed. Donny collapsed on the instant, heaving great whooping breaths. His face was shiny with sweat, and his soaked clothes stank acridly of fear. His pants, Penny noticed with disgust, were damp; she shifted backwards to move away from the stain. "Well?" she said.

Donny didn't respond. Maybe he was still too stunned to be coherent. But Penny didn't really care. When ten seconds had passed without an answer, she glared at Raj. Raj swallowed and closed his eyes. This time, the screams came more quickly.

8:21 P.M.

The sounds from behind the bridal suite's door had drawn the rest of the Sweet Eternity's staff—the front desk clerk Rebecca, the bridal party assistant Holly Mae and the building's caretaker José—but after Sheldon had teleported José away with a sharply waved hand, just as he had Reverend Tomlinson, Rebecca and Holly Mae had both screamed themselves and fled. Howard couldn't really blame them; Lucy had hurried down the main hall herself to the front lobby within seconds, holding her ears and squinching her eyes shut. Bernie had followed soon after. She'd muttered an explanation to Howard, something about keeping Lucy company, but Howard knew his wife well enough to tell when she was truly disturbed. The last time he'd seen that deep flicker of fright and unease, she'd been behind a quarantine wall in hospital after dropping a vial of raccoon virus, trying to reassure him she was fine. She had been, as it turned out, but he had never forgotten the look of that fear. He had hoped never to see it again.

Amy had stayed, but she looked pale and sick again, almost as bad as she'd looked during those first few minutes after Penny had brought her and Bernadette to apartment 4A yesterday. Sitting with Sheldon on a bench along the main corridor wall, she was holding Sheldon's hand, an act which Sheldon had done nothing to resist or stop. Sheldon himself was clearly attempting the stoicism of his idol Spock, sitting bolt upright and staring straight ahead, but the tics and blinks which flickered over his face at any particularly loud scream betrayed the toll it was taking on him. Beside him, Mary sat bent over her knotted fists, her elbows on her knees and her mouth moving silently in prayer. Her cheeks were wet.

When the screams stopped for the third time, Howard abruptly felt something inside him snap—or perhaps it was snapping _back_ , regaining itself. He thrust himself away from the wall. "Okay, enough," he said to no one in particular, and went to the door, lifting his hand to pound on it. Before his fist descended, the door swung open of its own accord. Raj was leaning on the interior frame, face sheened with sweat, hair disheveled, bowtie loose and collar undone. For a second he and Howard locked eyes. Then Raj lurched out into the hall, spun away, staggered a few steps down the corridor, fell to his knees and violently threw up.

Mary hurried to Raj's side, knelt down beside him and held his shoulders as he retched. Howard turned away and went into the bridal party room. Donny the assistant lay unconscious on the floor, surrounded by a noisome puddle already soaking into the carpet; Howard, a veteran of dozens of MIT engineers' parties in his college days, recognized the mix of vomit, sweat, urine and the accompanying stenches, and cringed. At the cupboard, Penny was sliding into the blue jeans she'd put on that morning, though for some reason she hadn't bothered changing out of the top half of her wedding dress. On another day Howard might have found the sight erotic—he was married, but not dead, as he sometimes joked to the guys—but today there was nothing left in him for that. "Well?" he said.

"He didn't know for certain," Penny said at last, buttoning her jeans. "But he said that he recognized one of the guys who came in. He said the guy works security at the Grand Camelot Hotel, on the Strip."

Howard swallowed. "Oh, boy. That's . . . kinda not good. I've heard of that place. It's got links to some pretty bad people."

"What do you mean?" Penny frowned. "I thought it was the casinos that were all mobbed up."

Howard shook his head. "No, the old-school mobs got out of the casino business back in the '90s after the government regulations tightened up. The organizations you have to look out for now are the Russian and Chinese gangs who got into the outcall business; they'll also run some unregulated games on the down low, for people who've been locked out of the legal casinos, but mostly it's, uh, escorts and evening companions, with a sideline in drugs." He cleared his throat. "And if you could please not ask me how I know this kind of stuff, 'specially in front of Bernie, I'd take that as a kindness."

"Howard, I think we all know how you know this kind of stuff." Penny grimaced. Then, as she thought about what he'd said, her expression went through some truly frightening changes. "Wait a minute. Howard—are you telling me Leonard got kidnapped by people who are into _sex trafficking_?!"

"No! Well, I mean yes, but not for _that_. I'm betting. I mean, would you? Leonard? Well, I mean I guess _you_ would, but who else'd pay for—?" Howard caught himself at Penny's glower and gestured feebly at the door. "I'm gonna go call the cops."

"Howard, wait! No!" Penny grabbed his arm. "We don't know for certain where he is, and the only proof we've got of it we, we—" She swallowed, looking at Donny as if she'd just grasped for the first time what she and Raj had done, but tightened her jaw and forced herself on. "—we _tortured_ out of somebody. You think the cops are gonna bother to listen to us? The moment we give them any of our names they're gonna try to arrest _us!_ " She let go of his arm, turned him to face her and gripped him by the shoulders. "It's up to _us_ , Howard. Nobody else."

Howard stared at her, trying frantically to think of some way to prove her wrong and unable to. In desperation he seized on another tactic. "Okay, then, what do you want us to do, exactly? Go over to the Grand Camelot and bust down every door in the place until we find him? Maybe they won't call the cops themselves, but these people aren't cute little fluffy bunnies—and not all of _us_ are invulnerable to bullets. Neither is Leonard, for that matter."

Penny bit her lip, frowning in furious thought. "No, no, you're right, we have to have some idea where to look, first. And we have to have a plan, and some backup tools, and . . . ." She trailed off, gesturing at empty air as if ticking off points on an imaginary list. "Okay. Okay, I think I've got it." Without even a last glance at Donny she strode out of the room into the main corridor; Howard hurried in her wake. "Sheldon!" Penny barked, startling the physicist into a yelp. "We're going to get Leonard. Can you open a hole back to the lab at Mrs. Latham's place? It isn't too far away?"

Sheldon stood, straightening his bowtie. "The entire _point_ of a contiguity is that it reduces space to zero, Penny," he said stiffly. "Once I know the coordinates I can open one anywhere. Distance is not a factor."

"Good. You're gonna take us back there and we're going to dig up some tools—anything that can help us. Radios, for a start, I'll bet her domestic security staff have some we can steal if nothing else. Howard, you're gonna bring your antigrav boots, got it?"

"They're _counter_ -gravity—okay, okay, yes, I get it." Howard held up his hands as if to physically ward off Penny's glare.

"And Mary—" Mrs. Cooper looked up; she and Raj had shifted to another bench. Penny knelt down in front of her. "I'm sorry, but we're going to leave you there. This could get really dangerous, and I don't want to put you at risk. I'm pretty sure Sheldon agrees with me. Am I right?"

Mary swallowed, but stood upright, brushing her dress down with dignity. Raj stayed slumped on the bench, looking as if he still wanted to throw up. "Penny," she said, drawing Penny to her feet as well, "I'm truly touched you want to look out for me. But if you want to keep me out of this you're gonna have to either lay me out like a steer in a slaughterhouse, or zap me with one of your nifty little tricks—and Sheldon Lee Cooper," she pointed at him without missing a beat, "you even _think_ about whooshing me back to that house, or back home to Everholt, I am never cooking a single meal for you again, you hear me?"

"Mary." Amy rose, still holding Sheldon's hand; Penny, Sheldon and Mary all gave her a startled look. "When I threw myself out of that helicopter yesterday because I wanted to help, you slapped me in the face, because I was senselessly risking myself for no good reason." At the word _slapped_ , Sheldon's jaw dropped and his eyes flashed, but Amy went on. "And I wound up forcing Penny to take extra risks herself to save me. Well, at the risk of being disrespectful—now it seems like _you're_ the one who wants to throw herself out of the helicopter. Should I slap you?" Amy raised her hand without any speed or threat, simply holding it in mid-air as if to show it off.

Mary flushed, then closed her eyes and took a long, deep breath. When she opened them again her colour had faded, though her jaw was tight. "Your point is taken. Dr. Fowler."

On the bench, Raj suddenly grimaced and held both hands to his head, as if keeping his skull from flying apart. Howard took the opportunity of escape gladly. "Okay, buddy, come with me, we should go get Bernie and Lucy." He pulled Raj to his feet and hurried him down the hall, away from the psychic turmoil swamping him. As they left, Howard saw Mary had turned to hug Sheldon; it was only mildly strange that Sheldon seemed to be returning the embrace without any of his usual reluctance. Howard shook his head. _Oh, boy, and to think I thought this day was gonna be_ less _weird than yesterday._

In the glass-walled lobby, the lights were out, the door was locked and the CLOSED sign had been put up; Howard suspected Bernadette's ever-reliable presence of mind. Traffic whirred by on the road outside as if nothing unusual at all was happening. Bernie and Lucy were both sitting wordlessly on the floor behind the reception desk, staying out of sight. At his entrance Bernadette looked up, then leapt to her feet and into his arms; he could feel her shaking, through her breath didn't have the hitching sound of someone about to cry. "Please tell me it's over," she whispered. "Tell me we got something out of this."

"We got something," said Howard. "Not sure how good it is, but it's a place to start." He looked over Bernadette's shoulder at the wide-eyed Lucy. "And somebody who can turn invisible and insubstantial would be really helpful. If you want to—I mean, I know Leonard isn't your friend the way Raj is . . . ."

"No, but—he's Raj's friend. So I sorta think I have to." Lucy got to her feet, brushing down her bridesmaid's dress, then went to Raj. She stared blankly at the drawn and exhausted look on Raj's face, then gulped and put her arms around him. After a moment, Raj's arms came up, and he held onto her as if she was the only thing keeping him from falling down. Which was probably, Howard speculated bleakly, not so far off from the truth.

Not letting go of Raj, Lucy turned her head so her eyes met Howard's. "And you know what, Howard? I kinda _want_ to. I mean, I don't know about you, but . . . I'm getting really, _really_ sick of all this running and hiding. Doncha think?"

She sounded almost bemused, as if the whole thing was an odder-than-usual cartoon of _The Far Side_. But there was something in her dark eyes, and the tension in her arms as she held Raj, that suddenly struck home like a switch turning on. For the first time, the fear and confusion and horror which Howard had been fighting since Raj had surprised that confession out of Donny subsided. He almost didn't recognize what was rising in their place, and it took a look into Bernadette's eyes—where he had, after all, seen this look far more often—to see it reflected there, and realize what it was.

Anger. Honest-to-God, real, righteous anger.

"You know what, Lucy," he said. "You're absolutely right. It _is_ time we stopped running."

Bernadette's arms tightened around his waist in wordless concord.

A flicker of light caught Howard's attention; he looked up and around, then found the source, realizing in the same instant what the noise that had been growing gradually clearer and louder was. Outside the glass walls of the lobby, down the road towards the Strip, the flashing red and blue lights of police cruisers were growing brighter and brighter, and the accompanying sirens howled up through the night. Howard nodded, more in confirmation than dismay; he'd been expecting this ever since the chapel staff had fled. "Okay, folks, time to head back." He let go of Bernadette and waved them back into the corridor. "Come on, come on, time to go!"

Penny, Sheldon, Amy and Mary were waiting for them. "Cops?" said Penny, and Howard nodded. She turned to Sheldon. "Okay, Dr. Spacetime. Do your thing."

"'Dr. Spacetime'?" repeated Sheldon. "Like 'Inspector Spacetime' from _Community_? Oh, no, no, that won't do at all—"

" _Sheldon!_ "

"Jeepers! All right, all right. Sheez." Grumbling, Sheldon turned away and began to draw his portal on the wall. "I hope this isn't your monthly feminine complaint, Penny," he added over his shoulder, "or you and Leonard aren't going to have much of a honeymoon."

GRAND CAMELOT HOTEL, 3050 SOUTH LAS VEGAS BOULEVARD, ROOM #1742

8:50 P.M.

Leonard came to amid a sea of pain, no single part of it excruciating in itself but the total of it enough to rip a long, sustained groan out of him. For a few seconds he thought his inability to move his arms and legs was pure and simple muscle soreness. Then he realized that the stinging ache around his wrists and his ankles came from rigid bands of some tough material that had rubbed them raw. With effort, he lifted his head and tried to blink his eyes into focus, unable to stop little intermittent cries as white bolts of pain shot through his neck with each half-inch of movement. Finally, he was upright, his eyes blurry with tears of agony, and tried to look around as best he could.

The view through the window, of the Las Vegas Strip in full neon-blazing multicoloured thunder, was spectacular, but it was the only thing that was. The rest of the chamber looked like a perfectly average hotel room: beige carpet, white bedsheets, TV on the wall, minibar, fridge, microwave and coffeemaker, workspace desk and an armchair. The chair he was sitting in, Leonard surmised, was meant for that workspace desk—it had been placed in the centre of the room, as far as possible from anything else. His wrists and ankles were bound to it by plastic zip-ties, pulled so tight that they had cut into his skin; blood trickled around the edges, and he pulled his eyes away from it with a shudder. There was nobody else in the room. He was still dressed in his wedding tuxedo, and from the particular stink of the drying fabric he knew his worst fears were confirmed: the Taser shot had made him lose control of his bladder. Fury and humiliation spun into his fear.

On the other hand, he abruptly thought, it was probably only that accident that meant he didn't feel any need to get to the washroom now. Small mercies. He found himself snickering hard, almost giggling, and fought it down. This was no time to get hysterical.

Okay. Okay, they hadn't left anybody in here with him; maybe they weren't expecting him to wake up this soon. He might have a few minutes to figure something out. Was there something in here that could cut the zip-ties? Could he get to it? Or maybe—his eyes fell on the phone—he could call for help?

Leonard took a few deep breaths, then threw his weight forward, managing to bring himself up on his feet. Teetering precariously, the chair thrusting out behind him, he twisted his feet back and forth at the ankles, caterpillaring his way across the room with agonizing slowness. At last he was by the bedside table, and knocked the telephone receiver off its base with a muttered "Yes!" Then the lack of dial tone warned him what to expect. His stomach sinking, he leaned forward to look at the back of the phone: its wall cord was missing. "Shit," he grumbled.

He shuffled back to the desk. By the time he got there, his ankles were blazing with pain, and his socks were soaked to squelching with blood, but he had kept himself from falling over or throwing up; he counted that a victory. Unfortunately, nothing in or on the desk looked like it would be the slightest use to him: there was a pad of hotel stationery, a pen, an index card showing important local numbers, and that was it. He glared at the kitchenette counter, wishing like heck they bothered to include cutlery in hotel rooms, but no: there wasn't anything in this room hard or sharp enough to—

His eyes fell on the coffeepot. The _glass_ coffeepot.

"Oh, boy," he muttered. This was going to hurt, and it would be a miracle if he could get through this without puking. But better hurt and sick than dead.

He caterpillared over to the countertop, twisted to get his left hand to the pot's handle and grabbed it up. As hard as he could, he threw it down on the floor. It bounced on the thick carpet without breaking and rolled to a stop. Leonard groaned in quiet frustration. Well, if gravity on its own wasn't going to do the job . . . . He shuffled over to one side of the pot, let the chair's feet fall back to the ground, and with a few jerks of his weight positioned himself as accurately as he could. With his left side facing the coffee pot, he hissed in a breath with each count. _One. Two. Three._ He threw his weight hard to his left.

The chair tilted up, hovered wobblingly on its two left feet for a nauseating instant, and then plunged over on its side, its frame landing directly on the glass pot. The coffeepot shattered with a loud _crunch_ , and a red-hot gash of pain drilled into Leonard's upper arm; he couldn't repress the yell that came out of him. But shards of the pot had scattered everywhere. With an exultation so acute it even drowned out his nausea, Leonard realized he could feel a large shard against his left hand. He wriggled his wrist as best he could, trying to angle his hand to where he could pick it up.

The door opened. The big bald man who'd Tased him back at the chapel, a short, skinny, ratty-looking fellow at his side, caught sight of Leonard and shook his head. "Okay, Dr. Hofstadter," he said reproachfully, "I guess you had to try, I'm not gonna blame you for that, but you see what happens? You just get yourself hurt." Without a wasted movement he strode in, grabbed Leonard's chair and set him upright. He looked with narrowed eyes at the slash in Leonard's arm, and Leonard had the disquieting impression this man had patched up injuries before. "Yeah, that looks like it's gonna smart. We might have to get you stitches."

Leonard swallowed. "Oh, you know, that's, that's very kind but it's really not necessary—"

"Dr. Hofstadter." The big man held a reproving finger before Leonard's eyes. "You get absolutely no voice in these decisions, all right? The sooner you accept that the smoother this is going to go, for everyone." He looked back at the short, ratlike guy. "Sammy, you want to call Mr. Rozokov? He said he wanted to be notified when the doc woke up."

"Sure, sure," said the ratlike guy, digging out his phone. His was the sharp, unpleasant voice Leonard vaguely remembered from the chapel. Sammy muttered into the phone while the big man took a dismayingly large knife from somewhere inside his jacket and began cutting Leonard's tuxedo jacket off his body. The fabric parted with frightening ease. Leonard couldn't decide whether he was more freaked out by the knife or the ruination of his outfit—forget drycleaning, this was full replacement, and tuxedos were _expensive_. He was vaguely aware that his mind was retreating into absurdity as a defense mechanism, but couldn't quite muster the wherewithal to fight it.

The big man dropped the remains of the ruined jacket to one side and probed the red-bordered gash in the sleeve of Leonard's shirt, muttering to himself. Sammy put the phone away and nodded. "Okay, Joe, Mr. R's on his way."

The big man, Joe, shook his head. "Shouldn't get into the habit, Sammy. You know he hates it, and all it takes is one slip when you're not paying attention."

"Okay, Dad," muttered Sammy. "You want me to rake the back lawn, too? 'Cause I could use some pocket money."

Leonard cleared his throat. "Listen, sir, if—if this is about money, I really don't have enough to be worth all this, and nobody in my life does, either." Well, that wasn't quite true—he supposed Mrs. Latham had enough money for any ransom, and so did the Koothrappalis, but he doubted either would pay for him; Mrs. Latham still had Sheldon, who could give her everything she needed from a business standpoint, and the Koothrappalis had never forgiven him for Priya. "As far as I'm concerned, I haven't seen anybody, I couldn't name anybody, and I don't need to remember anything. Please, sir; I was about to get married. I just want to go home and get married." He tried to keep the plaintive note out of his voice, knowing he was getting dangerously close to whining. Nobody listened to whiners.

"I wish raindrops were beer, Doc," said Joe. The worst thing of all was that he didn't even sound unsympathetic; if anything, the reverse. "But showing your face in public when you're practically one of the FBI's Ten Most Wanted was a pretty dumb move, gotta tell ya. Bet it never even occurred to you anybody would recognize you, did it? It's like I was telling Sammy: all you need is one slip."

 _We're never going to get anything like our old lives back, are we?_ Penny's voice echoed in Leonard's memory, and then Amy's: _Two days ago, the world changed._ We _changed_.

He had thought he understood the shock and loss of those statements, but only now did it really strike home: his life, the life he'd been so familiar with, the life he'd—in the end—loved, was _over_. Joe was right. He had been so smugly certain the lack of electronic trace on their transactions would hide them that it had simply never occurred to him someone might personally recognize his name or face. He had been too unconsciously accustomed to being overlooked, to going unnoticed, to even think of it. And no matter what happened next, he would never enjoy that quiet anonymity again; the world was never going to forget who he was or pass over him. He and Penny were never, ever, going to have the quiet happy life he'd wanted. They would not be _allowed_ to.

That was, of course, assuming he survived this at all.

The door opened again. Sammy snapped to something resembling attention; even Joe seemed to hold himself more formally as he rose and turned. The man who came in was not what Leonard had expected—he was small, not much taller than Leonard himself, round-faced and balding, with a fringe of white hair around his head, and wore gold-rimmed square spectacles and a rather Amy-esque cardigan over a stocky frame. He came over to stand before the chair, adjusted his glasses, and considered Leonard with interest. "Good evening, Dr. Hofstadter," he said in a completely normal-sounding flat accent—even his voice sounded unprepossessing, a slightly nasal baritone. "I just wanted to take the opportunity to apologize to you in person for this, ah, this unfortunate necessity."

Leonard swallowed. "Mr. . . . Rozokov?"

"Ah! You listen. That's impressive. And—" Without warning, Rozokov's hand shot forward and he plucked the empty frames of Leonard's glasses off his face. "—you have some craftiness, as well. You don't need these at all any more, but you keep them on to conceal your true capacities, and help others underestimate you. Very clever. I like you, Doctor; you may call me Ilya."

Leonard considered admitting the truth—he had kept the frames purely as a touchstone to help stay grounded amid the craziness, and hadn't thought along those lines at all—and then decided against it. Maybe he wasn't crafty by nature, but by God, he could learn quickly when he needed to. "Thank you," he said instead. "For the compliment, and the apology. But, um, I'm a little hazy on exactly why this is necessary, again?"

"Oh, it's nothing personal." Rozokov bent and fitted the frames back on Leonard's face. "No, no, you've done nothing to us. We don't even want any information from you; it's not like anyone in my organization would know what to do with it, ah?" He chuckled jocularly. "Believe me, while you're with us you're as safe as a bank, Doctor. I suspect you'll actually be quite safe where you're going, too, as long as you cooperate. They like cooperation, back home."

Leonard swallowed. It hurt, as if the glass shard he'd tucked under his left fingers—the shard that Joe, thankfully, hadn't seen him palm, in the last second before he'd been hauled back upright—had somehow gotten stuck in his throat. "Back . . . home?"

Rozokov frowned at him. For the first time the jocular smile faded. " _Bozhe moi_ ," he said, the Russian words somehow transforming the sound of his voice to something altogether more sinister. "You really don't have any idea what you're worth, do you? Dr. Hofstadter— _you_ are the man who devised the experiment that _gave the world superpowers._ Do you really not know how much any government on this planet will pay for exclusive access to that knowledge, right now? Or how many of them are willing to go to any lengths to reproduce that experiment controllably, and make their own—what's the word? Metas?—on demand? The payment I'm receiving from a particular faction in the Russian government will give me enough clout to _rule_ this city, or as much of it as I wish, and to make sure my children and their children will never again want for anything. And you just walk blithely into a wedding chapel as if nobody in the world gave a hoot who you were." Rozokov shook his head. "Scientists. You concentrate so much on learning how the universe works, you'll never get how the _world_ works."

Leonard made himself breathe slowly and carefully, trying desperately not to be sick. "You're going . . . to ship me off . . . to somewhere in Russia," he said. "In return for money."

"Yes!" said Rozokov, throwing his hands up. "At last! He gets it! So you see we have every interest in keeping you safe and intact, and you have absolutely nothing to fear from us as long as you cause no trouble. If we'd had more time to prepare a suitably secure room for you, we wouldn't even have needed your current inconveniences. _Diermo_ , we'd be willing to provide a few complimentary luxuries in the interim—food, drink, we could even arrange for some personal entertainment if you wanted . . . ?" He trailed off suggestively; at Leonard's blank stare, he shrugged. "Well, whatever. We'll certainly make sure your injuries are treated before your pickup tomorrow."

" _Tomorrow?_ " Leonard only barely prevented that from being a squawk.

"Delay profits no one." Rozokov shrugged. "Joe and Sammy here will look after any of your needs; you can count on one of them always being just outside that door—am I understood? Good," he said without waiting for an answer. "Enjoy your stay, Dr. Hofstadter. Feel free to watch TV as loud as you like, there's nobody on this floor, or the ones above or below. Oh, and now that you thoroughly understand your position, I don't think there's any need for these . . . ." He held out his hand and snapped his fingers. Joe handed him the knife without a word. With blunt efficiency, Rozokov bent and began cutting through the zip-ties; his hands, Leonard couldn't help but notice, were disquietingly broad and strong, the knuckles rough and callused and the palms and sides lined with scars.

One by one, the zip ties parted. Any thought Leonard might have had of making a break for it was immediately squelched by the astonishing level of agony that burst through his feet and hands as circulation returned. He couldn't stop the cry of pain that welled up, and he only barely managed to control his slide out of the chair, his butt thudding onto the floor and his legs stretched out before him. Blood dripped from his wrists and seeped into the carpet from his ankles; his black socks had been almost completely torn through. Rozokov tutted disapprovingly at the sight. "We _are_ going to have to have someone look at that. Can't have you dropping dead of gangrene a week after you touch down. Which reminds me—" Before Leonard could react he had bent down again and plucked the glass shard from Leonard's hand, so deftly that neither of them was even cut. Rozokov looked at the shard and chuckled. "Not a bad improvisation, Dr. Hofstadter. But as they like to say here in America, this isn't our first rodeo." He tossed the shard in the air, caught it, and pocketed it. "We'll be back in a few minutes, Doctor. Stay put."

Leaving him sitting on the floor, the three of them filed out; Leonard heard the lock click as the door closed behind them. He shuddered, unable to stop himself, and closed his eyes. _Come on,_ he thought, clenching his teeth. _Come on._ He bore down with all his concentration. If there was ever a time to develop superpowers, to telekinetically blow out a window, melt his way through the floor with a fireball or Hulk out into an unstoppable green rage machine, this was it. _Come on, come on, come_ on!

Nothing happened.

He wasn't aware quite when the frenzy of concentration dissolved into a burst of dry, tearless sobbing; all he knew was that he had gradually keeled over until he was lying on the floor, shaking helplessly. There was nothing left in his mind except a single thought: _Come on, Penny, Sheldon. Find me._

 _Oh please God, let Penny find me. Soon._


	11. Chapter 11

THE METAHUMAN TRANSFIGURATION

 **Description:** The gang gets superpowers. It's not as cool as some of them always thought. Alternate Season 9 premiere.

 **Notes:** A double apology owed this time, first for the unusually long period between updates here (I can plead only lack of time) and for a chapter that doesn't get quite as quickly to the real action as I wanted to (here I can only acknowledge my own predilection for all the necessary detail work to establish the scene, the sort of thing that a set designer and director takes care of before a TV show or movie hits the screen). I think people will see that next chapter will be able to launch into the big setpiece right away. For those interested in my head-casting, I see Aaron Ashmore (KILLJOYS) as Agent Anderson, and Michael Cudlitz (THE WALKING DEAD) as Sergeant Abrams. Thanks again to everyone who has left reviews and become a follower, and I hope that this chapter is still fun and entertaining to read.

(UPDATE: A belated reply to a recent guest reviewer, who asked if I really thought Emily was so evil: the answer is no, I don't, and I actually quite like Laura Spencer's portrayal of the character, but I do think Emily has a dark streak, and the thematic point of the Power Pulse is that it transforms you in a way that takes into account both your deepest nature and your state of mind at the moment you're transformed. Since I liked Lucy and wanted to bring her back, taking Emily down a dark path gave me both a dramatic antagonist and a nice complex romantic triangle to play with as well, so there was really only one way to go. For what it's worth, I don't know what her eventual fate will be yet, but it will definitely not be a simple beat-up-the-villain deal.)

 **Disclaimer:** The author does not own THE BIG BANG THEORY or any of the characters.

\- 11 -

BELLAGIO FOUNTAINS, 3600 LAS VEGAS BOULEVARD SOUTH, LAS VEGAS, NEVADA

FRIDAY, AUGUST 28, 2015, 9:16 P.M.

Earlier in the day, the group had paused for a few minutes in their stroll down the Strip to take in the famous Fountain show in front of the Bellagio, which had been all the time Sheldon needed to commit the location and its spatial coordinates to memory. The portal opened right atop the fence separating the streetside viewing platform from the artificial lake itself; the tourists who'd been loitering about waiting for the next show leapt back in shock and fear. Penny ignored them as she jumped down, glancing back at Sheldon in annoyance. "You couldn't have put us right on the sidewalk?"

"I had to guarantee putting it somewhere it wouldn't hurt someone, Penny," Sheldon defended himself, climbing down and then helping Amy down. "Las Vegas is unfortunately very heavily trafficked by pedestrians. It was either this or try to find a building rooftop." He noticed the flabbergasted, gaping tourists and waved cheerfully at them. "Good evening, hello! Don't mind us, we're just on a hostage rescue mission. We'll be out of your way well before the next show starts."

Penny wasn't sure if it was Sheldon's smile, or his words, or the sight of the others clambering down behind him from the portal, but something had clearly been the last straw; the tourists all turned and ran, though a few of the braver ones snapped pictures with their phones as they did. Then again, she thought, looking back at the portal, it might have been something else entirely. In the basement lab on the portal's far side stood Mrs. Latham, her arms folded, glaring at them. Even consumed with fear and anger as she was, Penny had to admit that glare still unnerved her.

" _It was a stupid idea to leave the house at all, and this is a stupider one,_ " she'd told Penny bluntly, _"and the only reason I'm not trying to stop you is that I recognize I physically can't. But if you're going to do this, for Christ's sake make sure you don't hurt anybody, or as few people as possible. The more damage you do the less I can protect you, and I don't care how valuable you are; I_ will _throw you to the government if you leave me no choice."_

Still, at least she'd helped equip them. All of them had earpiece radios with wrist-mikes wired under their clothes, and Howard, Raj and Sheldon all wore lightweight black body-armour vests lent them from Mrs. Latham's security force; Lucy had been given one as well, after Raj had pointed out to her that if she were caught by surprise by an attacker before she could ghost out she would be in real trouble. Penny, of course, had no need for armour, and Amy had simply copied Penny's powers. Bernadette, Lucy, and Sheldon had all been given Taser pistols of their own, though only Sheldon wore his at his belt; Lucy and Bernadette had hidden theirs in small shoulder-bags. "Open carry is legal in Vegas," Howard had said, "and Tasers aren't firearms so they aren't subject to concealed-carry laws, but girls wearing guns gets attention wherever you are, believe me. This way you guys have a non-lethal method of self-defense if something goes really wrong."

"And, uh, how wrong is 'really wrong' again?" Lucy asked.

Howard sighed. "Honestly, if you have to ask, you probably really don't want to know." He himself had buckled a small cylindrical device to his belt, and was carrying a hollow metal tube in one hand and what looked like wheel-less roller skates over his shoulder; both were connected by thin black cable to the belt cylinder, as was a small control device he held in the other hand. "'Cause I gotta tell you, I'm not sure _I_ know and I know I don't want to know. You know?"

Penny had almost wanted to laugh at Lucy's bemused look, but hadn't been able to.

With a gesture, Sheldon closed the portal and turned to the others. "All right, then. The Grand Camelot is fifteen minutes' walk that way." He pointed up the street towards a towering white obelisk of a building, lit in spotlights of blue, green and gold. "Once we get there, we'll need to survey as much of the building as we can. I propose a dual approach: Howard, Amy and Penny can survey the windows by circling the building, and Lucy can check the rooms by phasing out of the visible light spectrum."

Lucy frowned. "Uh, by myself?"

"You'll be perfectly safe," said Sheldon impatiently.

"No, no, that's not what I meant, it's just—that's a _big_ building." Lucy waved at it. "If I've got to try to go through every room on every floor, on my own, that's gonna take a really long time. Isn't there a way to narrow that down?"

Howard snapped his fingers. "Wait a minute. Raj, you were able to tell where Sheldon was, back at his place. What if you went with Lucy? Just keep your radar open as far as you can, you could probably sweep a whole floor in minutes."

Raj looked dubious. "I don't know, I've never used it in a big crowd before. Besides, I can't phase out like Lucy can; what if somebody spots me?"

Lucy's eyebrows went up. "Oh!" she said, looking startled. "Actually, I just remembered . . . um, let me try something. Hold on." She closed her eyes and grabbed Raj's hand, then dissolved smoothly out of existence, fading away like mist. Raj frowned at his hand, and at the oddly bunched look of the skin where an invisible hand was holding it. Then his eyes abruptly widened. Before he could say anything he too seemed to wash out, turning translucent, then transparent, then gone.

Penny gasped. Sheldon's eyebrow arched. "Fascinating," he said. "So you can expand the effect of your ability to another person being touched. I suppose that's a natural outgrowth of the basic side effect that phases your clothes along with you."

"Yeah," said Lucy, her voice coming from nowhere. "I did this by accident to the FBI agent in charge at the hospital, Page; when she grabbed me, I tried as hard as I could to get away and we wound up falling through the floor together."

"Well, that's certainly useful," came Raj's equally disembodied voice, "but there's, um, one really inconvenient side effect. I can't see a damned thing."

Amy nodded in understanding. "Yes, of course; if you're transparent to visible light, nothing reflects off your retinas so your brain gets no signals from the optic nerve." She frowned. "Lucy, how is it that _you_ can see?"

"No idea," admitted Lucy. "But everything looks really weird to me this way, almost like a photo negative or a sniper scope, so I think I must be seeing by UV or infrared or something. The last time I turned invisible in sunlight I almost went blind. But my night vision like this is amazing." Abruptly she gave a gasp and both she and Raj flickered back into visibility; she leant over, panting, hands on her kneees. "The downside," she gulped between breaths, "is that keeping that up . . . for two people's . . . a lot more draining than for just me. We might have to take some breaks. Make that a lot of breaks," she added after a moment.

Raj rubbed her shoulder. "It's okay, Lucy. We'll take things as slow as we need to." He looked around at the rest of them. "Well? Shall we get moving?"

"I guess we better," said Penny. She swallowed. Up 'til now sheer fury had carried her through everything. Suddenly, the cold-blooded truth of it hit home: they were deliberately walking into a major confrontation with a dangerous criminal organization willing to kidnap and kill, putting at least some of their lives on the line to save someone else's, trusting in nothing but their own brains and guts and the powers they'd had for barely two days. This was not instinctive reaction to circumstance, like trashing the riot cops or saving a falling copter; this was facing danger with your eyes open and your mind clear, knowing the consequences could overshadow the rest of your life—if you survived at all.

 _But if I don't do this I will never see Leonard again._

The thought steadied her stomach. She drew a deep breath, then another. "Yeah. Come on, guys, let's go get our friend." She started walking, a confident, steady stride that led her past the others and down the street. Within seconds, she felt the rest falling into step with her. The seven of them moved up the street towards the Camelot, Penny in the lead, the cool breeze of the Vegas night washing over them.

"You know that if they were filming us right now this would be a perfect slo-mo power walk scene," she heard Howard mutter in an undertone to Raj.

"Oh, totally," Raj agreed. To herself, Penny had to smile.

KLAS CHANNEL 8 HELIPORT, 3199 DEBBIE REYNOLDS DRIVE, LAS VEGAS, NEVADA

9:22 P.M.

Glenn Foxworth had always hated flying, and was profoundly relieved to see that the helicopter in which he was riding was at last coming in for a landing—although the speed with which it was doing so was a little disturbing in itself. The approaching helipad was a local station's traffic copter heliport, just off the Strip; a small flotilla of black SUVs and police cars had been drawn up around its edge, with uniformed and armoured men standing around in waiting groups. Glenn could see them turning to watch their copter as it descended. The visual perspective they gave made it even clearer how fast they were moving, and Glenn swallowed.

At his side, Nick Anderson glanced over at him and clapped his hand on Glenn's shoulder. "Don't worry, Doctor, our pilots know what they're doing."

Glenn managed a thin smile. He couldn't much say he liked Anderson's affected familiarity; the blond, compactly-built agent was just too young to make that kind of avuncular bonhomie work with someone Glenn's age. He found himself missing Agent Page's straightforward formality. But Angela was still recovering in Huntington Memorial from whatever had happened to her—although based on her medical workup, Glenn had a disturbingly strong suspicion about what that was—and Anderson, with all the ambition Angela had noted of him, had been more than eager to jump into her leadership role. Glenn found himself hoping that whatever the Primaries were doing in Las Vegas, they'd had the sense to leave Bernadette behind; she was pregnant, after all.

The helicopter landed with a thump. Anderson had already undone his seatbelt, and had the door open and was outside and onto the ground before Glenn could finish unbuckling himself. He grabbed his briefcase and hurried after Anderson, catching up as the younger man was beckoning the gathered officers into a circle. "Thank you all for volunteering!" he shouted over the noise of the copter's decelerating rotors. "Has everybody received their preliminary briefing packages? Had a chance to review them? Any questions?"

One of the riot-armoured officers, a big man with a rusty brush-cut and a bristling mustache, raised his hand. "Yeah, I got a question, Agent Anderson," he rumbled, without waiting to be acknowledged. "If these people can personally take down helicopters in flight with their bare hands, exactly how are we expected to be able to take them in? And if the FBI's known all this time where they were, why haven't you gone in and got 'em yourselves?"

Anderson nodded calmly, as if he'd expected no less; but Glenn caught the flash of anger in the younger man's eyes. "Good questions, Officer—what's your name? Abrams? Sergeant Abrams. To answer your second question first, the problem is that until today, our targets were on the private property of a politically connected individual, which made obtaining warrants problematic." That got a round of grumbling and muttering, but none of it hostile. Glenn guessed most of the men here had encountered that problem before. "And as you know from your briefing, we are all but certain that at least one individual in the target group possess the metahuman ability to travel instantaneously from one location to another. We only became aware that the group had travelled here, into public space, a few hours ago, thanks to a lucky computer search."

Glenn barely repressed a snort. That was technically true, but glossed over a great deal of the bureaucracy involved. Following Page's disappearance, Anderson had ordered the strike helicopters after the Latham Industries flight on Thursday night when the Los Robles surveillance team had reported its landing; he'd also had to personally debrief the copters' crews after Carmichaels and Fowler had forced them down (and _that_ had taken a few rewatches of the video before Glenn quite believed it). He'd then spent nearly all day today trying to obtain a warrant for the Latham property on Orlando Road, only to be blocked by orders from almost the very top of the FBI chain of command; Anderson had speculated to Glenn, fuming all the while, that the real obstacles were a couple of Congress-critters on key appropriations committees, people who had been in Latham Industries' pocket from before Leonard Latham's death. Glenn had pointed out that from one viewpoint this was a good sign—Anderson was now working on things big enough to have a political dimension—but he could appreciate the frustration.

Fortunately, thanks to the Communications Assistance for Law Enforcement Act of 1994, all U.S. telecommunications providers were required to install data packet capture technology that enabled the monitoring of their broadband internet and VoIP traffic. Far too much data moved online for a comprehensive general analysis, but computer-sifting allowed the retrieval of messages featuring specified keywords; the more specific and unusual the keyword, and the more focused the area of servers targeted, the likelier one was to find useful information quickly. After confirming the fugitive Primaries had gone to ground at Laura Latham's mansion, Anderson had put in place a search protocol on their names isolated to the ISP servers in proximity to Orlando Road. It had taken mere minutes to spot the names "L. Hofstadter" and "P. Carmichaels" in an online booking request for a Vegas wedding chapel off the Strip, and the FBI's surveillance data-crunching computers had sent a report to Anderson's secure inbox within half an hour of the original booking. Unfortunately, because Anderson had spent all day on the phone fruitlessly chasing his warrant, the report had sat unread in that secure inbox until well after three in the afternoon, which only confirmed Glenn's private conviction: All the computer-enhanced information efficiency in the world couldn't give someone more than two eyes or give them more than sixty minutes in an hour.

"We know that only one, or at most two, of our target group are wholly immune to physical weaponry," Anderson went on. "For Carmichaels and Fowler, use of tear gas, flash-bangs and stun gas grenades are authorized. For the rest of them, the Tasers and tranquilizer pistols you've been issued should suffice. You are not considered to be under force-escalation restrictions for these targets, and warning requirements have been waived; if you get a chance to nab someone in isolation or from behind, do so. Use of deadly force is authorized if your own lives, a colleague's life or a bystander's life appears to be in jeopardy."

Glenn stiffened. That was new, and not something Page would have ordered. He was professional enough not to challenge a leader's orders in front of his subordinates, but it took far more willpower than he'd expected to stay silent.

Abrams evidently didn't share Glenn's qualms. "Agent Anderson," he rumbled, "it occurs to me you may have been misled by all the weapons and the armour," he gestured around at himself and the other SWAT officers, "but our team specializes in _saving_ lives. One of our top priorities is to avoid collateral damage. If these people are so dangerous, why are we going after them right in the middle of a major urban population centre?"

Anderson sighed. Then he walked straight up to Abrams and glared right into his eyes. "It occurs to _me_ , Sergeant Abrams," he gritted, "that you may not have been paying attention—either to me, or to what's been happening across the world, or both. We are going after these people here because this is literally the only opportunity we have. We are going after them here because we can't afford not to have them under control. Most of all, we are going after them _because if we don't someone else will._ Now. Are you going to make the problem they present worse, or are you going to be part of the solution?"

Abrams met him glare for glare, jaw working. Glenn could read the dynamics as if they'd been drawn on the air: a seasoned officer resenting taking orders from a younger, far less-experienced man, and an FBI agent at that, but balked by the twin undeniable realities that first, the FBI, at least for now, _did_ have jurisdiction, and second, Abrams had no grounds to challenge Anderson's assessment, however little he liked it. On any other day Glenn would have bet on Abrams' professionalism to move past the confrontation gracefully . . . but for all he knew, Abrams had seen things of his own in the past two days, or lost someone. Everything was moving too fast, Glenn thought; everyone was scrambling in panic to adapt to an impossibly changed world, and panicking people became unpredictable. He wondered if he should attempt to intervene, then reluctantly decided against it. However diplomatic he tried to be, he would be a civilian attempting to interfere: no law enforcement officer ever took that kindly.

The confrontation broke with a start on both sides as Anderson's cell phone went off. The younger man hissed under his breath and grabbed it, while Abrams turned away with a grimace that could have been either self-disgust or contempt. "Anderson," said the FBI agent. "Go ahead." His eyebrows shot up. "Wait— _what_ did these people say they saw?" He listened a moment longer, then hung up without responding and looked around at the crowd. "Ladies and gentlemen," he announced, raising his voice. "We've just received confirmation that our Primaries have been sighted on the Strip itself, emerging from what was described as 'a doorway in the air' right in front of the Bellagio Fountains and headed north. We are going to get them. Now."

However young or inexperienced Anderson might be, he had, at least, mastered the trick of giving orders as if he expected them to be obeyed—something he had probably learned from Page, Glenn thought suddenly. And it worked. Whether in suits, uniforms or riot gear, the gathered officers began dispersing to their vehicles. Anderson motioned for Glenn to follow and got into one of the SUVs; a young woman in LVPD police blues sat in the driver's seat, looking over her shoulder at them as they buckled in. "North on the Strip, Agent Anderson?" she asked.

"North on the Strip," Anderson confirmed. "Your name, ma'am?"

"Officer Davies," said the young woman.

"Okay, Officer Davies," said Anderson. "You know me, the tall gentleman in the back is Dr. Glenn Foxworth. We'll be trying a peaceful approach first. So no sirens, no chases, no calling attention to ourselves. Just head north until we see our targets, and then . . . ." Anderson paused. "Then we'll see what we'll see."

He said it confidently and firmly enough that Davies seemed to take it as a solid plan. But Glenn suddenly felt very alarmed. Anderson was improvising as much as anybody else, he realized. _God, Bernie,_ he thought. _I really hope you and that husband of yours did the sensible thing and stayed home._ Yet he was sinkingly afraid he already knew the answer to that question.

One by one, the SUVs, police cruisers and the two armoured SWAT vans rolled out of the helipad's parking lot and into the Vegas traffic, headed towards the Strip.

THE GRAND CAMELOT HOTEL, 3050 SOUTH LAS VEGAS BOULEVARD

9:31 P.M.

Lucy had to admit that of all the things one might have seen in the Grand Camelot's lobby, the sight that greeted her when she first walked through the big revolving doors wasn't it. She froze, staring, her mouth open. Raj, whose arm was linked with hers, took a second longer to see it; when he did, the flabbergasted surprise that burst off him felt like a smack of cold water in the face. She physically staggered, almost falling over until he caught himself and her and bore her up. "Raj," she gulped. "Is this what I think it is?"

Raj pointed to the big electronic display sign on one wall. "I think it's exactly what you think it is, Lucy," he groaned. "Of all the things to walk into . . . ." He held his head, grimacing. "Oh, God, and it _feels_ just as bad as it looks . . . ."

"Guys, what're you doing? Come on, we've got to—!" Penny stopped dead beside them, her jaw falling open. "Oh, fuck _me_ ," she said. "Or rather, don't, please," she added as, one by one, the others came through the door and halted in similar shock.

Above an archway built in front of the main entrance, there stretched a picture of a scantily-clad blonde young woman in red lipstick, lying on her side and pouting sexily at the viewer. Scattered about the lobby, standing ad banners showed similar pictures, captioned by absurd names and all blazoned with the logos of production companies and publishers. Beyond the hotel's check-in desk, a large crowd swirled around a row of registration booths, most of them men but some of them—the ones circulating through the crowd as if working it—women wearing heavy makeup and lingerie-type outfits usually only found in fantasies or Victoria's Secret commercials. More underdressed people, this time men and women both, sat in the lobby's lounging area, chatting amicably. Amy adjusted her glasses and read the electronic display sign, her eyebrows high. " _The 43_ _rd_ _Annual Adult Entertainment Expo Welcomes Performers, Producers, and Patrons from Around the World_ ," she said.

"Oh, good Lord," Sheldon gulped. He averted his eyes blushingly from a tall black girl in a leopard-print bikini who walked by, and who gave him a come-hither smirk as she did. "I should have brought my face mask. God only _knows_ the pathogens that run wildfire through communities like this."

Howard looked around with a raised eyebrow. "You know, the irony is, four or five years ago I'd probably have known this was happening and researched it for a possible vacation spot," he said. "This is what I get for unsubscribing from those RSS feeds. Bet you never thought you'd regret civilizing me, huh, honeypants?" he added to Bernadette with a grin.

"If you were civilized you wouldn't call me honeypants," Bernadette growled. "Come on, we're only gonna draw attention if we stay here much longer. There's security staff everywhere, look." She nodded to the check-in counter, where two men in blue blazers—both carrying walkie-talkies and both, Lucy saw, with the telltale bulges at waist or lapel that indicated hidden holsters—were confronting a balding man in a loud Hawaiian-print shirt; their glower portended nothing good for their target. More similarly-uniformed men moved through the crowd. "Raj, Lucy, you go find an elevator and start sweeping the floors, going up. Penny, Howie, Amy, you go outside and start circling—work your way down from the top. Sheldon and I will stick down here and coordinate." She went to Sheldon and hooked her arm through his; Sheldon looked down at her with alarm. "Come on, honey, we're newlyweds having a drink or two in the bar if anybody asks. That should keep any, uh, let's say 'professionals' off our back."

"Not as many as you think," Howard warned her.

"Howie, I love you, but I _really_ don't need any more reminders of your familiarity with this kind of thing. Now get going." Bernadette slapped Howard on the shoulder and bore Sheldon off towards one end of the lobby, following the signs pointing to the Avalon Bar; the look of alarm on Sheldon's face only deepened. Amy watched them go with a distressed look.

Penny cleared her throat. "Well, come on, guys, if we're doing this let's do it."

Raj and Howard exchanged glances, then both nodded, as if bolstering themselves. "You're right," said Raj. "Absolutely." He turned to Lucy, extending his arm. "Shall we, milady?"

"Let's," said Lucy, managing a lopsided smile. She took his arm and pressed herself against his side as Penny, Amy and Howard disappeared back outside.

The two of them made their way through the chaos, carefully steering wide of the blue-blazered security personnel. Eventually, they wound up standing before the elevators amid a sizeable crowd. Raj cleared his throat and leaned over. "Heads up," he murmured in Lucy's ear. "I'm going to try dropping my shields a bit, and see what happens. If I fall over, just tell people I'm drunk."

"Okay," Lucy whispered back, just barely repressing a shiver at the feel of Raj's breath. Maybe it was the fact she was already as terrified as she thought she could be, maybe it was some lingering aftereffect from last night's empathy-assisted makeout session, or maybe all the tawdry erotica on display in the hotel lobby had unexpectedly gotten to her, but for some reason her libido seemed to have kicked in more strongly than she could remember it having done in years. She closed her eyes and took several deep breaths, forcing herself to a semblance of calm, trying very hard to ignore that internal tingling ache.

And then it hit her: _Raj could feel what others felt_. She turned to grab him and cry _No, wait!_ only to find he was already staring down at her in wide-eyed surprise. Their faces were ridiculously close together. Before she realized what she was doing she'd slid her arms around him, pulled his head down and kissed him again, as hungrily as she'd done last night; but this time the passion was all her own. Raj's arousal, triggered and feedback-magnified, spun into hers, and she found herself stumbling back against the wall as his hands slid over her, pulling him hard against herself, her mouth open wide and one leg lifting to wrap around his hips—

The _bing_ of the elevator arriving startled her, breaking the fever. She and Raj broke apart, panting, and then she drew in a horrified gasp. All around them, _everybody_ in the group waiting for the elevators had started making out with each other, without regard to sex or relationship or age. Unable to help herself, Lucy screamed. The sound shattered the spell; suddenly the gasps and moans and encouraging cries turned into yells of fury, panic and horror as people flung themselves apart. Fists flew; blows were struck; blood spattered from flattened noses. Beyond the elevator vestibule, Lucy saw the blue-blazered guards forcing their way through the bewildered crowd towards them. " _Come on!_ " she yelled at the flabbergasted Raj, dragging them into the elevator. The doors rolled closed bare seconds before the foremost guard caught up to them. Lucy stabbed the button for the topmost floor, then fell back against the back wall, still panting. Raj looked as if he'd just been walloped about the head several times with a gigantic padded hammer.

Eventually, as the elevator rose, he swallowed and looked at her. "Okay," he said. "Was that you or was that me?"

"I think . . . it was both of us," said Lucy. "I take it back, by the way. Now I know why normal people don't do that _all_ the time. Is it always like that?"

"I . . . don't know _what_ it's like, when—this—is involved." Raj touched his temple, looking more somber than she'd ever seen him. "Maybe . . . maybe we shouldn't push this. For that matter—maybe we shouldn't risk this at all."

Lucy swallowed and summoned all her courage, not looking away. "Not pushing is good," she said. "But I'm not ready to quit yet." She took his hand. "I trust you, Raj. Whatever you can do with your brain, I trust you."

He stared at her with an expression she'd never seen before, but she imagined it must look something like how he'd look if he were to suddenly see a supernova, or a new planet or asteroid. "You do," he almost whispered. "Don't you." He smiled at her. Helplessly, she returned it.

A second later she remembered, and jerked upright. "Oh! Leonard! Quick, Raj, start scanning!"

"Oh, right! Right. Krishna help me." He closed his eyes, then opened one in a squint. "And can you do me a favour and think about anything except me? Blue-eyed polar bears, whatever." He grinned, winked at her with the open eye, and closed it again. Lucy almost didn't recognize the urge that rose up, before she realized that she wanted to giggle.

LAS VEGAS STRIP

9:40 P.M.

Penny, Howard and Amy had snuck into an alleyway to take off, not wanting to draw any more attention than was unavoidable. The skates had worked brilliantly, feeling just like powering up a ramp at the roller rink, and for about the first thirty feet or so of the ascent Howard had been thinking nothing but the giddy refrain _This is so cool, this is so cool, this is so cool!_ Then he'd made the mistake of looking down to see the Strip falling away. His stomach had immediately turned itself inside out, but it was too late to stop; the only thing he could do was lean forward, the counter-grav skates' thrust set to maximum, and continue spiraling upwards around the Grand Camelot, muttering to himself like a prayer: "This was a mistake, this was a mistake, ho my freakin' _God_ this was one huge _meshuge ferkakte_ mistake . . . !"

"How you doing, Howard?"

" _Aaaahhh!_ " Amy's voice, seemingly out of nowhere, startled him so badly he lost his balance; his feet shot out from under him and he dropped like the tur-briske-fil that had accidentally slid off his mother's Thanksgiving platter when he was twelve. A dozen floors of the Grand Camelot flashed by in his upside-down vision, and the only other thing he could see as the neon-lit Strip hurtled upwards towards him was the spectacle of that overstuffed bird hitting the linoleum and bursting like a wet paper bag filled with offal . . . .

Something seized him, spun him about like a Saint-Bernard with a kitten and straightened him back upright. He and Amy shot skyward together, her arms wrapped around him. Abruptly he tuned in on her shouts: ". . . _turn down the power!_ Howard?! What's the control to turn these things down—?!" Shaking as if he'd been Tased—and everything in him burned stingingly with the sheer force of his terror, almost as if he had been—Howard fumbled for the control that had fallen out of his hand, got his fingers back around it and slid the dial back by half. Their ascent stopped.

Penny spiraled down out of the air towards them and pulled up with the grace of a synchronized swimmer, her arms folded and her expression annoyed. She looked as if she would have tapped her foot impatiently had there been anything to tap on. "Howard? You okay?"

Howard swallowed, knowing very well he was not and knowing he had only a few seconds to explain why. "Amy," he said weakly, "if you could please turn me around and hold me still, just for a minute or so . . . ."

Something in his pallor, or the cold sweat on his forehead, must have warned Amy. Her eyebrows rose in comprehension. "Oh. Penny, one minute please." She shifted around behind Howard, put one arm around his chest and the other around his waist, and tilted him forward. "It's okay, Howard. Go ahead."

"Thank you," said Howard, and lost most of the amazing dinner they'd had a few hours ago. Penny made a noise of mixed sympathy and disgust and turned away. Amy held him patiently until the spasms had passed, then leaned past him and shouted down at the ground far below, " _Gardez l'eau!_ "

"Garday-what?" said Penny.

"'Gardez l'eau'," Amy repeated. "French for 'watch out for the water!' It's what mediaeval Parisian burghers used to shout when they were throwing the contents of their chamber pots out the window, back before modern plumbing made such warnings superfluous."

"Oh. Yeah." Penny looked down at the Strip and grimaced. "I guess some poor schmuck really did just get the worst rain shower in history, didn't he?"

Howard scrubbed his face and mouth clean on the sleeve of his shirt and shuddered in a few deep breaths. "Okay. Okay, I think I've got it, Amy. Thanks."

"Any time." Amy smiled and let him go. "Penny did the same for me. I believe they call this 'paying it forward'."

"Tell me about it." At half-power, Howard was able to hover, and made a few tentative skating moves, sliding forward and then coming around in a slow turn. It was coming back to him now. "They never showed Robert Downey Jr. throwing up in the _Iron Man_ movies."

"You watched the wrong Robert Downey Jr. movies," Penny told him. "You should try watching _Less Than Zero_ sometime. Or, you know what, don't. Not a fun flick." She glanced down at the Grand Camelot; their ascent had taken them so high they were now well above its topmost spire. "Okay, guys, we're gonna check each floor, one by one. If you can get the windows open from the outside, great, if not, just remember the floor number, and . . . ." She trailed off, suddenly looking dismayed. Howard followed her realization a second later, and groaned, covering his face with his hand.

Amy frowned at them. "What's the problem?"

"We didn't think this through," said Howard, and waved at the building. "Anybody bother to count the number of floors? How are we going to know which floor is which from the outside?"

Amy blinked. "Well, from the outside, probably not. But luckily we don't have to." She lifted her wrist to her mouth and pressed the button on the mike control. "Raj? This is Amy, come in. Raj, can you hear me? Raj?"

There was a moment's pause; then Raj's voice crackled in their earpieces. " _Amy? We're in the elevator, going up. Passing the twentieth floor, and I haven't sensed anything that feels like Leonard._ " A beat. " _I, uh, I should probably mention that we caused a bit of a commotion on the ground floor. Completely by accident, but, um, it may have made their security guys a little more alert._ "

Howard brought his mike to his mouth. "A 'bit of a commotion'? Really? Do we even wanna know?"

" _Let's wait until it's a funny story we can tell in a bar next year,_ " said Raj. " _If you don't mind._ "

"Raj," said Amy, "does the elevator panel say how many floors there are in the building?"

" _Um . . . yes it does. Thirty-four._ "

Penny nodded in satisfaction. "Okay. Well, guys, don't lose count." Before Howard or Amy could say anything she whirled away and dove towards the building, moving as easily as if she'd flown all her life. Amy stared after her with an admiring look on her face, then followed. Howard had to admit he knew how she felt. He swallowed, dialed his skates' power down to just below hover-strength and began to skate downwards, feeling like he was skiing on air. It took a great deal of skill not to look down between his feet or think about just how high up he was.

The three of them circled the building. The hotel's roof was an open-air, glass-walled plaza full of tables, one end of which was roofed over and set up as an event hall or stage; uniformed staff bustled around it, evidently getting something set up or torn down—Howard couldn't tell from this distance. None of the staff looked up, or noticed the three flyers. Behind the event hall, a giant steel sculpture of a sword, point up, towered another four or five stories into the night. The windows just below the roof were double normal height, and inside was another event hall, this one populated by a large crowd and alive with lights; the music was so loud they could hear it even outside. Below that were the largest, most richly-appointed suites, only a few of which seemed to be occupied. Then came two levels of slightly less rich rooms, then what looked like ordinary suites, floor after floor after floor of them, some with balconies, some not, most occupied, a few dark . . . . In one suite, a towheaded little girl in glasses was gazing out the window with a bored look; when she saw Howard skate by, she stiffened, her mouth falling open in awe. Howard grinned at her, waved, and skated on. Okay; that had kinda sorta been worth it.

" _Howard? It's Raj_ ," came Raj's voice through his earpiece. " _We just got sent back down from the Shalott Hall, up on the top floor, where there's some big shindig going on for the convention. I, uh . . . I haven't sensed anything that felt like Leonard._ " Though Raj was clearly fighting to keep his voice calm, Howard could hear the dread in his friend's words. " _We'll make another pass, but I don't know if this is going to work._ "

Howard skated to a stop, dialing up to hover mode, and frowned at the hotel. "Are you sure? You were able to pick all of us out dead on, back at Sheldon's mom's place. Are you sensing _anything?_ " Amy and Penny pulled up near him, listening intently.

" _Yes! Yes, absolutely; I can tell there's whole bunches of people on each floor, but finding a single person's like . . . it's like walking through a music store where they're playing twenty to thirty songs at once; all you hear is just this general din. I might have to get a lot closer before I could pick Leonard out clearly._ "

"That's assuming he's actually here, of course," said Amy grimly. "Or that he hasn't been sedated into unconsciousness, or even just asleep any deeper than REM-stage; both of those would mean he wasn't giving off any emotions for Raj to pick up."

Penny groaned and pressed her fists against her forehead. "Oh, God, don't do this to me, Ames! There's got to be a way to find him! I mean, where else could he be? Do these guys have, like, secret CIA-type rendition warehouses somewhere or what?"

Howard shook his head. "Thing about organized crime, it's like what Ben Kingsley said in _Sneakers:_ 'Don't kid yourself. It's not that organized.'" More for the need to do something than with any plan in mind, he skated into a wide arc, sweeping around in mid-air to size the hotel up from ground to top. "From what Donny said this whole thing was put together extremely last-minute. They'll go the place they have the best control, and that's here. They've probably got plenty of spare rooms, they'd want to keep him . . . isolated . . . ." He trailed off, staring at the hotel, and swallowed. His heartbeat stuttered for a second; he winced, clutching his chest. He hadn't had that arrhythmia in a long time.

Penny stared at him. "Howard?"

Howard triggered his mike. "Raj," he said, "go back down to—shit, I lost count—about halfway up, maybe the fifteenth or sixteenth floor. Open up. Don't look for floors where there's noise. Look for floors that feel completely empty, or with only a few people." He beckoned Penny and Amy closer and pointed at the hotel. "Because there are three floors in a row here where every single window is dark, and on the side facing the Strip, too. And what are the odds that in the middle of a major convention, the hotel is going to keep three of its floors completely empty unless there's a reason nobody's allowed there?"

Penny's mouth fell open, then shut with a snap. "Be right back!" she said, and burst into rocketing motion, flashing away so fast the slipstream almost knocked Howard off balance again. Quick as a blur, she circled the hotel, shot back towards them and pulled up, nearly crashing into Amy. She shook her head as if the quick deceleration had made her dizzy. "There's _one_ lit window!" she shouted into her mike; Howard and Amy winced from the volume. "On the north side, middle floor! Let's go!"

Bernadette's voice came over the earpiece. " _Amy, Penny, be careful! There's gotta be guards, right? Wait for Raj to get more information about the people on the floor!_ "

" _Uh, that may be more difficult than we thought,_ " Raj's voice came back.

Penny frowned. "What? Why?"

" _Because the elevators have been blocked off from floors sixteen, seventeen and eighteen_ ," said Lucy. " _You can't request those floors unless you have a keycard. Which kinda makes sense if you think about it. We're gonna have to get off at fifteen and go up the fire escape stairs. But that's where going ghost comes in, right?_ "

Penny's jaw clenched, as did her fists; it was clearly taking all her effort not simply to zip back around the building, find that sole lighted window and throw herself through it. Howard held up his hand and hit his mike again. "Raj, Lucy—Penny, Amy and I are going to take up position outside this window, it's on the north side of the building. If we stay out of direct light, we might be able to see who's in there. If not, we'll be ready to go in if you signal us." Penny gave him a look of naked gratitude, and suddenly Howard found himself feeling something he hadn't felt around women in years: Awkward.

They circled around the building together, moving slowly to keep from drawing the attention of anybody on the ground, and held position opposite the lighted window Penny had found, some ten to twelve yards out. The ground below them was occupied by the hotel's parking area; even at this late hour, cars and pedestrians still moved in and out of the lot. Howard envied Penny and Amy their ability to hover absolutely immobile in mid-air—he still hadn't got the knack of balancing perfectly dead centre on the skates, and had to keep pushing back and forth with small movements to stay where he was, as if climbing an invisible StairMaster. All it would take was one person looking up, with enough alertness to catch the movement and enough curiosity to wonder what it was, to give them away . . . but every time Howard glanced downward (for the bare half-second at a time he dared) not a single person did. They only stared at the ground, their phones, the cars around them or the people walking with them. Howard wasn't sure whether to feel relieved or indignant about that.

Amy squinted at the window, scowled, took off her glasses and polished them on her cardigan, then put them on and tried again, to no avail. "Can you see anything in there?" she said to Penny.

"Not without getting closer," said Penny, sounding annoyed. "It looks like somebody's in the bed, but that's as much as I can make out; the light's just on in the bathroom. Man, why couldn't I have gotten the super-vision and hearing, too? Or the laser vision. That would've been cool."

"Yeah, you could tip the cows and barbecue them simultaneously," Howard needled her.

Penny glowered at him. "Howard, you don't want your kid to grow up without a father, do you?"

"Empty threats, honey." Howard stretched out his arms with affected casualness. "I've got a wife who can avenge me by making her own bioweapons. You wanna find out if your invulnerability extends to flesh-eating disease?"

"Oh!" said Amy, sounding surprised. "Is this an example of that casual banter under fire I keep seeing so much of in media? You know, where the heroes trade jokes or insults to distract themselves from their own overwhelming terror, grief or anger?"

Howard and Penny exchanged disgruntled looks. "Well, it _was_ ," Howard muttered.

GRAND CAMELOT HOTEL, 17TH FLOOR

9:45 P.M.

The experience of sliding _through_ a closed, solid metal fire escape door, Lucy's arm around his waist, to get onto the Camelot's sixteenth story was like nothing Raj had ever felt: it hadn't actually been painful but it had felt superbly unpleasant, as if a solid sheet of pins and needles had swept through his entire body. It had felt no better the second time when they entered the seventeenth floor. He had to take a few seconds and shudder, bent over with his hands on his knees, before he could get his equilibrium back. He looked up at Lucy. "Vishnu's bowels. How did you ever get used to this?"

Lucy shrugged awkwardly. "I dunno; it felt pretty bad the first couple of times, but after a while I just got used to it. Maybe I'm not doing it right when I do it with someone else . . . ." He felt her sudden hot flush of embarrassment, and something else, as they simultaneously realized the inadvertent innuendo. She pushed him away by one shoulder. "Raj, _stop_ that!" Despite the indignant tone she couldn't conceal her grin.

"Me? You're the one making the dirty jokes, my lady." Raj managed a smile, then took a few deep breaths and forced himself to straighten up. "Okay. Floor sixteen down, and empty; let's see if there's anyone here . . . ."

He closed his eyes and cast out with his mind, a sensation that, to him, felt like a collapsible radar dish opening up. Lucy's nervousness was a sparkling tonic by his side, but other than her, the dead silence of empty room after empty room was all that met his mind as his senses fanned further and further out. The floor below had felt much the same way. In principle, he supposed, there was no reason he couldn't simply stretch that perception out in _all_ directions, upwards and well as downwards, but the simple act of _thinking_ of it as "a floor at a time" seemed to define the area he sensed—

His mind smacked into something with a feeling like he'd accidentally backhanded a brick wall: the mental presence was heavy, dispassionately cold, and rigid as stone under a shallow layer of amicability. The impact actually hurt. For a moment Raj almost lost control—he could feel his field of perception wobble like a glass tumbler knocked to a table edge—but Lucy grabbed his arm, and the pressure brought him back to himself. He narrowed his focus. Just adjacent to the stone-souled mind was a second presence, this one crackling and stinging with jitters, resentment and fear. Raj took a deep breath and tried to clear his mind, stretching out even further, thinking of nothing but the deep dark between stars, the utter silence.

And in that silence, a short distance beyond the stony soul and the stinging one, there was a faint warmth, barely perceptible, yet somehow instantly recognizeable.

Raj drew breath to yell in triumph, only for it to be muffled by the slap of Lucy's palm against his mouth; he caught her hand with his and gulped the shout back, nodding frantically to her. Lucy brought her mike to her mouth. "Guys!" she hissed. "Raj says it's him! It's Leonard! He's on the seventeenth floor!"

" _GOTCHA, you sons of_ _BITCHES!_ " Penny's shriek came through the radio earpieces like an icepick straight through their eardrums. Lucy screamed and clapped one hand to her ear, and before he could catch himself Raj had ripped his own earpiece out with a bellow of pain. Then they both froze in horror. For a few ringing, appalled seconds they stared at each other, their cries seeming to hang in the dead silent air of the corridors.

Footsteps began pounding the carpet, growing steadily closer and louder.

Raj gulped and hit his mike. "Guys, I think we just distracted the people guarding Leonard. This would be a good chance for you to get him out of there, but . . . if someone could, um, help us? Anyone?

"Please?"

At the end of the corridor, two men, one brawny, one skinny, sprinted into view. Both held drawn guns, aimed upwards. One pointed at them and yelled. The gun muzzles came down, and the men pounded towards them, the gun muzzles seeming to yawn in terrifying blackness as they neared.


	12. Chapter 12

THE METAHUMAN TRANSFIGURATION

 **Description:** The gang gets superpowers. It's not as cool as some of them always thought. Alternate Season 9 premiere.

 **Notes:** In the words of the famous "Ti Kwan Leep" sketch from Canadian comedy legends The Frantics, "All right, finally, some action!" I have tried to keep this within the level of what might count as T-rated violence, but as I am not 100% confident of what the line between those two degrees is, I will note for the record that some of the content here, as in Chapter 10, may veer close to the edge of if not into M-rated territory. Personally, I think any twelve-year-old who can handle soul-sucking horrors like the Dementors of _Harry Potter_ can deal with a little fisticuffs, but let the warning be noted for where it is legitimately required.

 **Disclaimer:** The author does not own THE BIG BANG THEORY or any of the characters.

\- 12 -

GRAND CAMELOT HOTEL, 17TH FLOOR, LAS VEGAS, NEVADA

FRIDAY, AUGUST 28, 2015, 9:46 P.M.

"ExcusemegentlemenI'mterriblysorrytodisturbyoubutIwaswonderingifyouknewwherethenearestwashroommight _beeeeeeeee_ —" Raj babbled, and that was as far as he got before the big bald guy grabbed his collar where it stuck out of his armour vest and slammed him against the wall. Something hard, cold and metallic jabbed Raj under the chin, hard enough to bring tears to his eyes. The bald man's glare was the most terrifying thing Raj had ever seen. Beside them, the skinny guy had grabbed Lucy and hauled her into a headlock, jamming his gun against her temple with the same brutal speed; her terror blazed from her white face with such force Raj could barely think.

"How the hell did you get onto this floor?" growled the bald man. "This area's hotel staff only." Then he frowned. "Wait. I know you. Where've I seen—?" In mid-sentence his eyes widened. "Oh, shit. Sammy, you know who we got here? We got two of Dr. Hofstadter's friends, from the news! The people the cops are looking for!" He grinned.

The skinny guy, Sammy, nodded slowly in comprehension. "And they're trespassing, too," he said, and broke into a grin himself. "Might be even more money in it for us, Joe."

Tears spilled down Lucy's cheeks. "Oh, God," she whimpered, "please, please don't hurt us, please—"

At which point Sammy made his fatal mistake. "Oh, shut _up_ , bitch," he snapped, and whacked the barrel of his pistol against Lucy's head.

The pain of the impact burst through Raj's head as well, and as he saw Lucy slump, her eyes rolling up, the blast ignited Raj's brain like a primary detonation setting off the chain reaction of a fusion bomb. " _NO!"_ he roared. White-hot fury erupted invisibly out of him in all directions; he could _feel_ its wavefront smash into every mind in its path, both here and as far away as four or five floors above and below. Joe went flailing backwards as if he'd been physically punched, his gun flying away down the hall. Sammy reeled back and collapsed . . . and with a heart-wrenching scream that extinguished that fury in sudden, appalled shock, Lucy fell too, her arms over her head.

The rage-wave flickered out like a dying flare. Like a tsunami crashing back into shore, the terror, bewilderment and anguish Raj had left in a hundred minds backlashed over him in a freezing, hammering flood. Raj collapsed to his knees. Gasping and paralyzed, he saw Sammy clawing his way back upright, grabbing his gun, bringing it up into line with Raj's face—

Beside him, Lucy reached up, grabbed Sammy's arm with both hands and pulled it down. Her hands, Sammy's arm, and the gun Sammy held all disappeared into the carpeted floor. Then Lucy yanked her hands back out and rolled away. For a second, Sammy stared at the carpet where his arm had fused into it, face blank and uncomprehending. He tried to pull his arm back; it wouldn't move. He tried harder. Then sudden horror shattered his face and he began to scream. " _Jesus! Jesus, Joe, help me! Jesus Christ, bitch, what'd you do?! Oh shit! Oh God! Oh, God, help—!_ "

Gunshots cracked through the air. Raj flung himself to the hallway floor. Lucy threw herself through the fire escape door without bothering to open it and vanished. From farther down the corridor, Joe swung his recovered gun across the hall to bear on Raj once again, still firing; a red flower burst across Sammy's temple and the skinny man's screams cut off, his body collapsing to the carpet. Raj rolled across the floor into the recess of the fire escape door, out of the line of fire. Panic drowned his mind; he threw bolts of that panic over and over at Joe, smashing at that stone-stubborn resolve, but the man was too used to mastering his own fear to be shaken by Raj's. Bullets struck bursts of plaster from the edge of the wall, chewing towards him, the thunder of Joe's gunfire a deafening roar in Raj's ringing ears.

Then Joe's gun clicked on empty. Raj felt the dismay in the big man's mind as clearly as if he'd shouted an obscenity aloud. He struck at that dismay, punching through it, slamming his mind down on something that felt like a well-worn switch, a long-trained reflex: _Retreat!_ He heard Joe curse, felt him hurl the useless gun down the hall at Raj's hiding place and saw it hit the carpet. Footsteps pounded the rug once again, fading away this time. Raj lay still, shuddering, trying to bring the hammering of his heart back under control.

Lucy poked her head through the fire escape door. She saw Raj, and a relieved, joyful smile burst across her face as she stepped back into the hallway. Then she looked beyond him, saw Sammy's body on the carpet, and her eyes bulged; she clapped both hands to her mouth, muffling another scream. Raj clambered to his feet and pulled her to him, hugging her tightly, taking as much comfort as he gave.

GRAND CAMELOT HOTEL, NORTHSIDE EXTERIOR

9:47 P.M.

" _Guys, I think we just distracted the people guarding Leonard. This would be a good chance for you to get him out of there, but . . . if someone could, um, help us? Anyone? Please?_ "

Without hesitating Penny flung herself at the lighted window—and sliced around in a sudden vicious spiral as Amy grabbed her leg with a shout of, " _Wait!_ " The two of them spun about one another in a flailing knot before Penny tore free, and for a second the look of sheer rage on her face actually frightened Howard. But Amy didn't flinch. "We have to be _careful!_ " she cried. "We have to go in together, quietly! All of us. Carefully."

Penny closed her eyes, sucked in a deep breath, and nodded. "Okay," she rasped. "You're right. Careful. But _fast._ Come on."

She whirled and shot towards the window, fetching up lightly on the wall to one side; Amy flashed after her and landed on the opposite side. They fumbled around the outer screen and dislodged it. Howard just barely kept himself from following it down with his eyes. Penny peered inside at the frame, scowling. "They don't make these things to open from the outside, do they?" she muttered. "I can't find anywhere to get a grip."

"Maybe we should just push it in." Amy moved around and set her hands against the bottom corners of the frame, nodding to Penny. "You get the top. Okay, ready? One, two, _three_ —"

Howard saw their mistake an instant too late. "No, _wait_ —"

Simultaneously, Amy and Penny both pushed as hard as they could—and sent themselves flying away from the building, spinning about in mid-air. Penny got herself under control almost instantly, but Amy took a few seconds more, and looked distinctly dizzy by the time she stopped. Penny glared at Howard as if it was somehow his fault. "What the hell happened? I thought we were super-strong!"

"You _are_ strong," Howard said. "But you didn't have any _leverage_ there. It doesn't matter how much force you apply if you don't have something to brace against." He took a deep breath; this wasn't going to be quiet, but it might be quieter than the alternative. "Okay, guys, stay back." He adjusted a couple of dials on the control wand in his left hand, then lifted the metal tube in his right hand and aimed it at the window. "And you might want to plug your ears."

Looking unsettled, Penny did so; after a moment, so did Amy. Howard breathed deeply a few times, then in one quick move leant forward to direct his skates' thrust backward and pressed the red button on the bottom of his control wand. A burst of force whipcracked out of the tube, shoving him backwards—he flailed a second but managed to recover, reminded for a moment of trying to stay upright on roller skates—and punched in the window frame and panes together with a splintering crunch and crash, leaving a four-foot-wide hole in the wall.

"Wow!" Amy grinned.

Penny immediately leapt backwards, brought her arms together over her head, and arrowed into the room like a high diver, pulling up and dropping onto her feet with a ballet dancer's poise. Amy looked at Howard apologetically. "Um, I don't think I can do that," she said, waving at Penny, and simply clambered in through the hole. Howard sighed and followed her in, stumbling a little until he got the knack of standing upright on the skates' countergrav field. Simply having a floor within touching distance was an unbelieveable relaxant.

Penny had already sprinted to the bed, in which a covered sleeping form was visible. She yanked back the blankets. " _Leonard!_ " she cried, and hauled her fiancé's limp form upright, holding up his head, kissing his face fiercely before pulling back with dismay. "Oh, God, Leonard, honey, wake up! Can you hear me, baby? Wake up, please, wake up . . . ." She twisted round to cast a beseeching look at Amy. "Ames, what's wrong with him? What's happened?"

Amy hurried over to the bed, grabbed Leonard's arm and pushed back the sleeve of his white shirt. Then she yelped and dropped his arm, which fell limply to the mattress. His wrist was wrapped in heavy, blood-stained bandages. " _That's_ not good," she said. "Here, bestie, move over—" She skinned back one of Leonard's eyelids. "Pupils dilated. He might have been drugged. Howard, can you put the lights on?"

Howard skated to the light switch on the wall by the door. A second before he touched it, the door opened. The big bald man on the other side stared blankly at him. Howard returned the gape. Then a massive fist smashed into the side of Howard's head; stars burst blindingly throughout his skull. He went over on his back as if tackled, the back of his head thudded into the floor and Howard lost all interest in subsequent proceedings.

9:48 P.M.

" _Howard!_ " Penny spun to see Amy charging at the big man in the doorway; before she could leap up to join her, the big man had unloaded a powerful swing and decked Amy so hard that she spun about and staggered, her glasses flying in two pieces off her face. Blinking myopically, Amy shook her head, then glared in the big man's general direction. "You know, sir, that hurt my budget a lot more than my skull. You have any idea what my prescription costs?"

"Noted," said the man after a moment, looking a bit taken aback. It was not enough to stop him, though. He stepped forward and, with a speed and smoothness Penny would never have expected from someone of his bulk, spun on his heel and delivered a roundhouse kick to Amy's midsection, knocking her back across the room. She collapsed, eyes bulging, whooping in huge gasps. The big man nodded, turned, and saw Penny holding Leonard. With an exasperated huff he strode towards her. Before she knew it, he'd brought up his fist with that same speed and haymakered her right across the jaw.

The blow knocked her head sideways, but felt no harder than an unexpected push. She blinked, turned her head back, and glared straight into his eyes. His eyebrows shot up. Penny rolled back on the bed, brought her feet up and with all the strength of her cheerleader's legs kicked him in the belly with both feet. His breath left him with a loud " _Oooffff!_ "; the man flew backwards through mid-air and crashed into the wall with such force that the plaster cracked. For a moment he hung there, then fell to the carpet, leaving a six-foot-high sunken crater of cracks and torn paper behind him in the wall.

"Wh—wh—wh— _whoa_ ," Amy finally gasped. She sat up, massaging her stomach. "Remind me—never to tick you off again, Penny."

Penny hurried over and helped her to her feet. "You okay? You hurt?"

"No, I'm fine, I think. Just had the wind knocked out of me." Amy looked down at herself. "This power seems to have some interesting limits—it protects you from actual tissue-damaging injury, but doesn't seem to stop the subsidiary effects unless you brace for them with the concomitant strength. Did you know Harry Houdini died from a burst appendix when somebody punched him in the stomach unexpectedly?"

"I did not," said Penny. "And now I'll have something interesting to talk about at the wedding reception. But we gotta get out of here. Check on Howard." She went back to the bed, slid her arms under Leonard and lifted him easily. He stirred and groaned in her arms; her heart fluttered. "Leonard? Leonard, honey? You okay?"

"P . . . Penny?" Leonard's eyes cracked open, blinking blurrily at her behind the empty frames of his glasses. His gaze wandered, as if he couldn't quite focus. "Penny. That is you, right?"

"Yeah! Yeah, it's me, baby. Oh, God, what happened to you? No, you know what, never mind. It's time to go. Can you walk?" She let Leonard down to rest on his feet; the minute she eased her grip back his legs wobbled and he almost fell, and she only just caught him in time. "Okay, okay, take it slow, honey. Hold on to me." She walked him over to the door, where Amy was propping up Howard, and winced at the sight of the engineer's face, which was swollen all down one side and turning truly spectacular shades of blue and purple. "Amy, how's he doing?"

"Concussed," said Amy tersely. "Or as close as makes no nevermind. I don't think he's going to be in any shape to skate back down with us. If I carry him, you think you can fly carrying Leonard?"

"I _can_ , I'm not sure we should. What if something goes wrong and one of us drops somebody?" Penny glanced at the window. "Let's take the normal way down. Come on." She swung Leonard towards the door, then stopped, closing her eyes. "Oh _no_ . . . ."

"What is it?" Then Amy heard it too: more running footsteps. She grimaced. "Oh, boy. What is it you always say, bestie—'crap on a cracker'?" She let Howard carefully down and raised her fists, grimacing. "And just to warn you, Penny, without my glasses I'm about as blind as Leonard used to be, so if I hit you by accident, I apologize in advance."

"Accepted, and likewise. Baby, I've gotta put you down just for a second—hang on—" She eased Leonard down to sit against the wall and brought her fists up, waiting. The footsteps were almost at the door. She breathed in a few fierce, fast breaths and braced herself.

Raj and Lucy appeared in the door. Lucy yelped and jerked back, Amy and Penny both jumped, and then everybody relaxed with a simultaneous outrush of breath. Raj stepped forward and hugged Penny; she returned the embrace tightly. Lucy squinted at each of them. "You guys okay?" Then she looked past them, and gulped at the sight of the big man lying flat on the floor beneath the damaged wall. "So that's what happened to him."

Penny frowned. "You already met this guy?"

"He was one of the guys who came to check out the noise when they heard me and Lucy," explained Raj.

"One of the guys?" said Amy. "What happened to the other one?"

Raj swallowed. Lucy looked away, her face pale. Amy waved her hands and shook her head. "You know what, forget it, I don't want to know." She knelt, hauled Howard up and draped one of his arms over her shoulders. Penny did the same to Leonard. "Come on, let's get out of here. We'd better let Sheldon and Bernadette know we're okay." Her mouth twisted. "For certain values of 'okay'."

"We're alive and moving, that's enough for me right now," said Penny.

GRAND CAMELOT HOTEL, THE AVALON BAR

9:49 P.M.

With the part of his brain that wasn't taken up either by listening intently to the earpiece or by holding himself still with ever-greater willpower to keep from fleeing, Sheldon had only become all the more convinced that he'd been right to insist on never going to the bars at Comic-Con. The barely-lit room seemed to have become the most densely packed hang-out site for the convention attendees, and the uproar was deafening. The outfits some patrons wore here were rather different from typical Comic-Con cosplay, he conceded—although less so than one might think—but the crowd's noise and frenzy gave off almost exactly the same vibe of affected frivolity and poorly concealed desperation. This was the sort of thing that had soured him on the whole idea of human mating procedures, before he'd met Amy—if you had to reduce yourself to this kind of squawking, semi-rational primate simply to obtain a cooperative biological spasm that more often than not led to nothing, as far as he could tell, but inconvenience, boredom and ultimately financial ruin, he would far rather spend his time using his brain at its full potential to decipher the language of Creation.

It was even more galling to concede that Howard had been right, mostly because it was galling to concede Howard was right about anything. Despite Bernadette feigning public affection with constant touches (an irritant in itself) and prominently flashing her wedding ring ever since they'd sat down in their corner booth, Sheldon had been propositioned twice in as many minutes by wandering professionals. This third and latest one, a tall brunette with piercing blue eyes who'd introduced herself as Michaela, had even propositioned them both simultaneously _and_ been sharp enough to see through their cover.

"Honeymooners, huh?" she said, and ran her hand over Sheldon's left hand with upsetting familiarity. "Then where's _your_ ring, handsome; you lose it already? And what's a honeymoon couple doing at an event like this? Believe me, if you're having a little getaway on the down low with somebody else's wife, there's nothing that adds a little spice like someone joining in . . . ." Then she slid her other hand up Sheldon's thigh. Sheldon jumped with a yelp and, before he could stop himself, translocated her out of the bar with a shrug of focused willpower. Bernadette's eyes bugged, but the dimness and the noise had kept anyone else from noticing.

Sheldon caught her stare and looked down at the tabletop, more embarrassed than he cared to admit. "If you're going to lecture me on careless use of one's abilities, Bernadette, I'd appreciate it if you saved it for later," he muttered.

"Actually I was just wondering where you were _sending_ these people."

"Oh. The comic book store." At her raised eyebrows, he shrugged. "I think we can trust a wedding-chapel minister, a janitor and a Vegas callgirl to have no interest whatsoever in vandalizing Stuart's stock. And it guarantees them being both safe and out of our hair for the rest of the night—"

" _Sheldon? Bernadette? We got him, we're going to the elevator!_ " Even in the earpiece, the words were difficult to hear over the noise of the bar, but Penny's shout made them clear enough. Sheldon let out a gasping sigh of relief, surprised both by its intensity and by the fact Bernadette had sighed in exactly the same way. It was rare for him to be so emotionally in sync with someone—Amy had been the last person with whom he had managed it with any degree of consistency, and even she remained aggravatingly unpredictable at times. He finished the virgin Cuba Libre he'd ordered, congratulating himself on successfully _not_ dressing down that snooty cocktail waitress who'd raised an eyebrow at the order, and got to his feet.

Before he could push his way through the crowd to the exit door, however, Bernadette grabbed his arm with one hand and brought her mike to her mouth with the other. "Wait, guys—the elevator? Why can't you just fly him down?"

The pause wasn't long, but it was long enough. Sheldon actually _saw_ the dread hit Bernadette's face in a visible draining of colour; it was a fascinating experience to realize how clearly he could read it. Usually such things were as opaque to him as a wall. "Penny?" she said. "Are you all okay? Is anyone hurt?" Now it was her turn to start pushing towards the door, but her small size worked against her; barely anyone even noticed her efforts. "Penny? Amy? Answer me!"

" _Bernadette, it's me._ " Amy's tone was steady but grim. Sheldon caught himself slumping in relief again, and wanted to hit himself—Amy had copied Penny's invulnerability, there should have been absolutely no reason to worry about her welfare. Was there no limit to the irrationality this woman produced in him? " _Howard's going to be all right, I think, but he did take a really nasty punch; I think he may have a concussion. And Leonard had some injuries of his own, so he was pretty heavily sedated. But we've hooked up with Raj and Lucy, so between all of us we should be able to get everybody downstairs. Meet us by the elevator in ten minutes, and be ready to teleport out._ "

"10-4," said Sheldon into his mike. "Roger, and out." He turned to Bernadette. "Bernadette, if you'd be so good as to stick behind me, I think we can—"

He never saw it coming or had time to react, but his brain was quick enough that, in the millisecond between the Taser prongs jabbing into his buttock and the blinding, tingling surge of power that stiffened him into shuddering paralysis, he had time to think, _Aw, frack me_. Then he collapsed, blinking, every muscle in his body quivering like Jell-O. Dazed, he wondered why he wasn't falling. Then he realized a stranger in a blue blazer was holding him up, and dimly felt the change in weight as an unseen hand pulled the Taser pistol from his belt holster. Annoyance gurgled sluggishly through his treacly brain. _Piss-poor example for any proud Texan, to be disarmed so easy_ , said a mental voice that sounded awfully like his father's. He fumbled for the precision and insight that would let him open a contiguity and found absolutely nothing.

A tall, shaven-headed black man in a similar blue blazer was standing beside Bernadette, one arm around her shoulders and the other at her waist: pressed against Bernadette's stomach, concealed by an extended finger, was a short single-edged knifeblade whose edge shone with disturbing sharpness. Bernadette had frozen, eyes wide, her breath wisping in and out like a rabbit's in front of a fox. Blearily, Sheldon supposed he couldn't blame her; even if she could regenerate from a full disembowelment it could not possibly be easy or pain-free. All around them, the crowd continued to moil and rumble. Sheldon couldn't believe nobody was noticing this.

"Okay, honey," the knifeman said to Bernadette. His slightly thyroid eyes seemed to glow in the dimness of the bar. "You and Dr. Cooper are going to come with us, and if you give us any trouble, it'll be the last thing you ever do. Are we clear?" He glanced past Sheldon to the man holding him; Sheldon tried to turn his head to see and just couldn't muster the effort. "You got him there, Pete?"

"Is _Pyotr_ ," huffed the man behind Sheldon, in a thick Russian accent. "And yes, he is no problem. Is practically beanpole."

"Good. Don't hesitate to zap him again, though, he looks like he's waking up. Come on." The knifeman spun about, manhandling Bernadette like a doll and bearing her with him out of the bar. Sheldon felt Pyotr's arm muscles bunch as the Russian hauled him along. His head rolled on his neck like a bobble-head's, and the thought that came to him was more irritated than anything else: _If I'd uploaded my consciousness into a robot I wouldn't have this problem._

But then, if he'd uploaded his consciousness into a robot, they would never have faced this situation at all. Amy would never have fallen for a robot. And with no relationship to traumatize him with its cessation, he would never have thought of the equation that inspired that catastrophic experiment, and everything that followed from it would never have happened. No, the logic was inescapable: it would have been better and safer for everyone—for the entire world—if Amy and he had never met.

He wondered why that thought hurt so badly. Logic was logic. It wasn't supposed to hurt.

17TH FLOOR

9:50 P.M.

If Penny got one more hard lesson from reality about the limits of physical hyperstrength, she thought she might just punch something. _Lifting_ Leonard was effortless; _carrying_ his adult-sized, almost completely limp body was altogether more awkward—in some ways, in fact, the strength made it trickier, because it was all too easy to forget to pay attention to what she was doing. She'd already clonked him on the head once while getting him through the door of the hotel room, though thankfully it seemed to have helped wake him up rather than further injure him. By the time the group had gotten to the elevator vestibule, Leonard had roused enough to mumble a request into her ear to be let down. She tried, only to have to catch him again. "Whoops! Okay, there, sweetie, I think you may have to lean on me just a little longer . . . ."

"Okay," Leonard husked. "Whatever you say, baby. You got me."

Penny fought back the urge to cry. "Yeah. Yeah, I do." She glanced at Amy and Raj, who were supporting Howard between them; they too had stopped, but were staring at something on the floor ahead of them, as was Lucy. Penny frowned and looked past them, then whistled. "Whoa."

The fire escape door hung open, lolling off one hinge, as if something massive had smashed into it. Before it, the floor seemed to have burst open, torn strips of carpet peeled back from a ragged hole and chunks of metal and concrete scattered about, as if a grenade had somehow been buried in the concrete and gone off. Penny looked at Raj and Lucy. "Did you guys do this? What happened?"

"Um—" Raj and Lucy looked at each other; Lucy's face was bewildered, Raj's not much less so. After a moment he looked back at Penny. "It wasn't like this when we left, let's just say that."

Penny shrugged. "Fine, whatever." Supporting Leonard in one arm, she navigated past the broken floor to the elevator control panel and hit the down button, then stepped back. The others came to stand beside her. The pause stretched out. Penny found herself awkwardly rocking on her feet, trying to think of small talk, and not able to.

"If a conversational topic is desired to help pass the time, I have a number of interesting anecdotes about the various types of brain lesions I've studied in the past year," volunteered Amy.

Penny bit her lip. "Um, I don't really know if I feel like talking shop right now, Ames." She was saved from further explanation by the _bing_ of the elevator, and breathed out a sigh of relief. "C'mon, guys."

GRAND CAMELOT LOBBY

9:51 P.M.

The elevator doors rolled open. Penny hauled Leonard out of the elevator with her into the vestibule, and stopped, her mouth open. Amy, Raj and Lucy came out behind her, Howard draped off them, and stopped as well. Startlingly, it was Lucy who came out with the unbelieving exclamation, "Oh, _shit_."

A short, balding man in a cardigan stood in the middle of a row of angry-looking men, some in blue blazers, others in leather or denim jackets, all holding guns levelled at them—not just Tasers, but real firearms, all automatic pistols with suppressors screwed to their muzzles. Behind them, a hasty set of guide-ribbon posts had been set up, closing off access to the area; several of the standing advertisement banners had been hauled around to conceal the area from the crowd outside. Penny glanced behind her, but there was no other exit from the vestibule, except to get back into an elevator or through the door to the fire stairways.

The balding man shook his head, his arms folded, looking more tired than anything else. "Dr. Hofstadter, I don't know how your friends found you, but I really wish this hadn't happened. Didn't I tell you if you just cooperated you'd be treated perfectly well? Now this isn't going to end particularly well for any of you."

Leonard surprised Penny with a groan, lifting his head. "Mr. Rozokov," he rasped, blinking, "I'd like to introduce you to my fiancée, Penny Carmichaels. If you think all those guns are scaring her, I have to tell you, you're seriously wrong. The only way this all ends well for _you_ is if you let us all go. Now."

Rozokov glanced at Penny; however kindly that roundish bespectacled face, there was no human feeling in that cold, assessing look. "You may be right. Then again, you may not." He gestured to one of his men, a big guy with a greasy black ponytail and beard and tattoos visible at the end of his leather-jacketed sleeves. "Pasha?"

The guy pointed his pistol at Penny and fired. It didn't sound anything like the _pwip_ effect of a thousand movies; instead the gun emitted a sharp _crack_ like a builder's nailgun going off. The noise echoed through the lobby, and the rumble of the crowd beyond suddenly subsided, turning somehow uneasy. Penny jerked back with the impact—it felt like somebody had shoved her hard in the stomach—and then resettled herself, not even breathing deeply. Pasha stared at her, his mouth open, frowning faintly as if he suspected some kind of trick. The other gangsters exchanged suddenly uncertain glances.

Leonard let go of Penny, shuffled to one side and let himself slide down the wall. But his head remained up and his eyes stayed fixed on Rozokov. "And she's not the only one," he rasped. "Amy? Lucy? You guys want to show these folks what you can do?"

It took only a moment for Amy to step up beside Penny, glaring fiercely at Rozokov. Lucy gulped and took up a stance on Penny's other side; Penny could see the faint hint of translucency about her that indicated what Lucy called the ghost-state. Raj had, she was glad to see, decided discretion was the better part of valour and pulled the unconscious Howard back with him against the wall. Leonard waved at them. "All the guns in the world aren't going to help you against these three. You're welcome to try." Unexpectedly, he _laughed_ ; a dry harsh bark that sounding nothing like anything Penny had ever heard from him, but real, however raw. "And I really feel sorry for you if you do."

Rozokov's face suddenly split in an enraged snarl, as if Leonard's laughter had been the last straw. He shouted orders in Russian. The gangsters hesitated a second; Rozokov shouted the same words again, more furiously, and this time his men levelled their weapons and fired. The storm of suppressed fire sounded like some kind of industrial buzzsaw kicking off. Instinctively, Penny twisted slightly to one side, away from Leonard, Howard and Raj, her arms up to guard her face: she felt the bullets as a patter of sharp stings, like a hailstorm so fierce it was blowing horizontally. Amy had likewise shielded her face, the bullets plucking at her clothes, and Lucy simply stood still, her eyes closed, as everything that came at her went straight through her. Within seconds the guns had all clicked empty. The noise of the crowd beyond had turned into a cacophony of screaming and running feet.

Penny lowered her arms, gave the flabbergasted gangsters her best Junior Rodeo smile, and lifted about a foot into the air. Deliberately cracking the knuckles of each fist, she levitated towards them. Pasha was the first to break. Without warning he spun and ran, and in less than half a second all the rest of the group had followed him. Rozokov screamed obscenities after them, turned back, whipped out a pistol of his own and took aim—

—at Leonard.

All Penny's gleeful triumph shattered in an instant of terror. She flung herself at Rozokov, getting her hands around his wrist as her momentum carried them both flailing down the marble floor, crashing through the standing ad posters and knocking them down. He pulled the trigger, once, twice—the bullets stung her stomach, then her chest—she wrenched his arm upwards—

The third shot went off just as the gun came level with her left eye.

9:52 P.M.

Raj felt the sudden searing pain in his own eye as if it had happened to him, but worse was the sheer, unbelieving shock as Penny jackknifed over backwards, her hands to her eyes and her scream ripping the air. Rozokov scrambled to his feet and ran. In fury, Raj hurled psychic bolts of rage after him, but he could not scare the man any more than he already was, and Rozokov only ran the faster. Within seconds he was out of sight, the lobby left empty behind him. The crowd had fled, and even the concierge's desk was empty.

" _Penny!_ " Leonard's anguished cry echoed in the wake of his fiancée's scream. He clawed his way to her side on his hands and knees; Raj, Amy and Lucy followed. Penny had fallen to her knees, hunched over, her hands to her face. Leonard pulled her into his lap, taking her hands in his. "Oh God, baby, please, let me see—I have to see—" He pulled, but couldn't move her hands. Tears streaming down his face, he looked up. "Amy—Raj—help us—"

Raj nodded to Amy, who took Penny's wrists gently but firmly in her own hands, and as she pulled, Raj sent the gentlest waves of calm he could at Penny's mind, as he'd done with Mrs. Cooper yesterday but a dozen times more strongly. Penny fought it reflexively, her Nebraska stubbornness kicking in, but as Leonard murmured soothing reassurance in her ear the terror gradually washed away. Shaking, Penny let Amy pull her hands downwards. Slowly her face came into sight.

Raj collapsed in relief. Penny's left eye was red and swollen, leaking grimy tears as if it had been caught in a sandstorm, but nothing worse. With a murmured request Raj nudged Amy gently out of the way, reached under his Kevlar vest, took the handkerchief he always kept in his breast pocket (and he would be very annoyed if any of them ever gave him a hard time about it ever again) and began dabbing at Penny's eye, removing the grit and dust he could see in every blink. Leonard had slumped in similar relief, almost crying himself.

Amy squinted at Penny's face, but without her glasses she clearly couldn't see much. "Raj, what happened?"

Raj took a close look at the grit smeared on his handkerchief. His mouth came slowly open in awe as he saw its metallic glitter. "I think," he said, "the bullet shattered on Penny's eyeball." Beside him, Lucy gasped. "But some of the fragments got caught under her eyelids, and that hurt just as much as it normally would. Other than that, though, I think she's fine. She might have a little corneal scratching, but I think that will heal."

"Oh, God," husked Penny. She was shaking now, almost as if fevered. Leonard tightened his arms around her reflexively. "Oh, Jesus, that scared the crap out of me. I thought—I thought—" She buried her face in Leonard's chest. "What the _hell?_ " she demanded, her voice muffled. "Superman never got hurt by this kind of shit!"

"Yeah, well . . . ." Leonard's expression seemed caught halfway between bleak amusement and infinite sadness. "I never thought _I'd_ have to say this to _you_ , sweetheart, but . . . Superman's only in comic books."

A groan cut through their quiet. Raj looked back to the elevators. Howard was rolling over and pushing himself up; his pain, disorientation and nausea swamped Raj like a wave, and Raj had to turn away, clenching his fists as he walled off his mind. Lucy and Amy ran to Howard's side, helping him up. He looked about, blinking hazily. "What the hell happened? Last thing I remember, I saw a big guy in the door, and—" He winced, touching his face. "I got my clock cleaned, didn't I?"

"Like a nameless Nazi mook in _Raiders of the Lost Ark_ ," confirmed Amy. "Sorry, Howard."

"This explains why Tony Stark always wore the helmet," Howard muttered. Then he saw Leonard, and a big grin broke over his face for a second before it dissolved into another grimace of pain. "Buddy!— _ow._ " He tottered over to Leonard and Penny, dropping to his knees beside them in what was half a fall. "How are you, Leonard? You okay?" He looked around. "Where's Bernie?"

"I told her and Sheldon to meet us by the elevators," said Amy, frowning. "They were supposed to be in the bar—they can't have missed all the noise." She lifted her wrist to her mouth and clicked her mike. "Bernadette? Sheldon? Anybody there? Berna—"

She stopped, frowning. For a second Raj didn't understand why; then he heard it, too. A heavy, slow, slightly irregular thumping, like something pounding the floor. And it was getting louder . . . no, he realized, his stomach sinking, it was getting _closer_. He turned, slowly, looking back towards the elevators. As if drawn by a string, Amy followed his gaze. One by one, so did the others. The noise grew louder, and louder . . . and stopped.

Raj suddenly found himself unable to breathe.

Then the steel door leading to the fire escape stairs burst off its hinges like a tank had smashed into it. Lucy and Amy both screamed; Raj was only a little ashamed to realize he had shrieked too, at more or less the same pitch. As the bent and ruined door crashed down onto the floor, something massive and hideous staggered into the elevator vestibule, its feet slamming down with the same heavy tread. The marble cracked underneath each step, as if an anvil had fallen onto it. The shreds of a shirt hung off its swollen shoulders. The figure's right arm was a nightmare mass of metallic spikes and jagged cement-like bone spurs, and streaks of shining grey ran down the face and throughout the skin like lines of infection. It paused, breathing heavily, as if exhausted by the mere effort of movement. But as it stood, its head turned slowly to face them.

"W-w-w-what the frak is _that?!_ " squeaked Howard.

Raj swallowed. "If memory serves," he said in a trembly voice, "I think his name is Sammy."

At the sound of the name, the figure's head snapped up. Blazing, maddened eyes fixed upon them. And then, with a roar, the thing which had once been Rozokov's henchman came charging across the lobby floor at them.

* * * * *

 **For those who may, perhaps, sincerely wonder why the heck it took eleven days to write the contents of about seven minutes in internal story-time, I can only write that off to the fact that this tale is taking on its own density as it goes. Still, honesty requires me to admit that at least some of the delay was due simply to my brain going on strike. I am hoping that with the block broken, I will be able to get through the next chapter a little faster. Thanks again to everyone coming along on this crazy ride! And if you felt like tossing a little review-meat to the alligators living in my brain, I would in no wise object.**


	13. Chapter 13

THE METAHUMAN TRANSFIGURATION

 **Description:** The gang gets superpowers. It's not as cool as some of them always thought. Alternate Season 9 premiere.

 **Chapter Rating Alert:** One moment in particular in this chapter—you'll know which one when you get to it—probably qualifies as M for violence. Sensitive stomachs are hereby warned.

 **Notes:** This particular delay in publication I actually have a good explanation for; I've been on vacation in Tasmania, Australia for the last week and a half! Nonetheless, the comparative deceleration in speed of updating has probably come to a few people's notice, and for that I must apologize. Part of the problem is that the first few chapters of the story—how the characters got their powers, what they were, the emotional dynamics of leading in from the end of season 8—I'd had in my mind for a while, and the following few chapters were simply the most obvious ways to move on from that. But now I'm getting to a point where some of the arcs actually have to _get_ somewhere, and that takes more thinking, trial and error. It doesn't help that I typically write by the seat of my pants and have only a very limited idea of where I'm going at any one point. (To that end, if anyone has any ideas for scenes they'd like to see, I have no objection whatsoever to stealing inspiration!)

 **Disclaimer:** The author does not own THE BIG BANG THEORY or any of the characters.

\- 13 -

GRAND CAMELOT HOTEL, MAIN DRIVEWAY, LAS VEGAS STRIP, LAS VEGAS, NEVADA

FRIDAY, AUGUST 28, 2015, 9:55 P.M.

When Dispatch's reports of gunfire at the Grand Camelot Hotel had come in, Sergeant Max Abrams had ordered his SWAT vans around immediately, not feeling any need to check with that punk Anderson; FBI agent or not, gunfire in a public place was always a threat. Then the dispatcher had filled in his team on the nature of the event going on at the Camelot, and his worry only increased. There was no such thing as a "gun-free zone" in an open-carry state like Nevada, but hobby or leisure conventions like this one were usually the next worst thing—most people tended to leave their weapons at home when they felt like letting their hair down, and that made for a distressingly target-rich environment for the wackos. His team were all seasoned veterans, and over the radio he gave them their orders tersely: two by two, full armour, semi-automatic, create evac pathways for civilians—they knew the drill.

They rolled up the Camelot's driveway as the last of the civilian crowds were fleeing, swinging over to park on the lawn-island inside the driveway's curve to keep access clear for other emergency vehicles. Abrams popped his door and swung out, already able to hear the sound of approaching sirens: ambulances, he hoped. Unfortunately, one of them turned out to be Anderson's SUV. Anderson practically leapt out of the vehicle, spitting mad, and came storming up to Abrams, the tall civilian doctor trailing unhappily in his wake.

"What the _hell_ were you thinking not clearing this with me, Sergeant?!" he shouted. "Why didn't you respond to any of my hails?!"

"I was thinking that we were looking for any signs of trouble, Agent, whether your superfreaks are part of it or not," said Abrams coolly. "This is our primary responsibility, and it's happening in our jurisdiction, which means _I_ make the calls until we have evidence this relates to your case—"

With an ear-splitting _crash_ , the big glass panels of the lobby's front wall burst in an explosion of whitish-gray shards. Out of the shattered windows hurtled a luggage dolly, tumbling end over end in a whirling streak of brass and red velvet that flashed over their heads—Abrams, Foxworth and Anderson all ducked—landed on the lawn island, and continued rolling and bouncing until it flew right into the traffic of the Strip. Brakes screeching and horns blaring, vehicles slewed sideways around the dolly or juddered to a stop before it; within seconds, the Strip's traffic had snarled into a hopeless tangle.

Abrams straightened, his mouth tight. Well. That did clarify things. "All right, Agent Anderson, there's your evidence. What do you want us to do?"

Anderson shook his head, recovering himself. "All right—Abrams, I want half your team out here with heavy weapons, Tasers, flash-bangs and tear gas, ready to take down anybody who comes out. I'm going to get the uniforms to cordon off the area and direct traffic around here. The minute that's done, you and I and the other half of your team are going in, to take into custody whoever we can." He held Abrams' gaze unflinchingly. " _However_ we can. Am I clear?"

Two minutes ago Abrams would have objected, half out of respect for law and half out of resentment for FBI high-handedness. But that was before he'd seen that luggage dolly come flying through the glass like a catapult missile. He only nodded, triggered his radio mike and began giving orders.

GRAND CAMELOT HOTEL LOBBY

9:56 P.M.

Penny had never thought the day would come when any of them would ever say this, but she was pretty sure at least some of them now owed their lives to Howard Wolowitz. As Sammy charged at them across the lobby, roaring, his huge misshapen arms coming up, Howard had lifted his force projector tube and let loose a blast right into the man's—creature's?—face. Sammy had flipped heels-over-head backwards like the last bowling pin in a perfectly placed spare, cracking the tile when he hit. For a moment he lay there, rolling back and forth, moaning, but the moan turned with dismaying speed into a roar of painful rage and within seconds he was back on his feet. " _Kill you!_ " he spluttered through a mouthful of teeth that didn't look human any more. " _Kill you all!_ "

Howard stared in disbelief, then hastily fumbled at his handheld controls. As Sammy began moving towards them again Howard flicked a panicked look at Penny and Amy. "Uh, superstrength people, help?!" he squawked. He levelled the tube and pressed the trigger button—but the rippling bolt of energy that shot forth this time was visibly weaker, and when it smashed into Sammy it only knocked him stumbling off balance. Eyes bulging, Howard tried once more, returning his aim to Sammy's head. The feeble, wavery pulse that shot out splashed off Sammy's face like water . . . and the hum coming from Howard's skates died. He dropped to the lobby's marble floor with a clank, staggering.

Sammy shook his head like a dog and glowered at Howard. From the man's horribly thickened throat, a slow, guttural chuckling ratcheted up into audibility, and he broke into a sharklike grin. He waved his spiky arm at the power cylinder on Howard's belt. "Guess it doesn't last longer after all, huh?" he rasped. "Shoulda used Energizer, little bunny." The smile fell into a snarl like a house of cards collapsing, and he started forward with heavy slamming steps; the marble cracked under his feet. "You wanna keep going and going, shorty, I'd start running. _Now_."

 _I should move,_ thought Penny dimly, through the haze of fear, revulsion and disbelief clogging her brain. _I should get up and do something_. She just couldn't seem to think what. With nightmare clarity and slowness, she saw the shards and fragments of marble Sammy kicked up floating about his feet in a cloud; at each step, they seemed to whirl inward, plating themselves onto Sammy's socks and shoes and even sinking into the flesh beneath. Moment by moment there was less in the thing before them that was real, that was _human_ . . . . Howard stumbled backward, off balance and clumsy in the dead metal frames of his powerless skates, and suddenly Sammy was looming over him and the massive spiky arm swept back like an executioner's sword coming up—

Screaming in mingled fury and terror, Amy threw herself into Sammy's path and began hammering punches against his body; the blows that had pierced aerospace-grade steel when they'd taken down that FBI copter yesterday only sent Sammy staggering back. Penny had time to see the surface of Sammy's torso actually bending and flexing under the punches, as if Amy was denting a car hood that kept springing back, before Sammy's arm came whickering around and Amy went flying across the room and crashed into a lounging couch, rolling it over with the force of her impact. She came to rest on the floor beyond, blinking dazedly at the roof.

" _Amy!_ " Raj screamed. He broke away from the group to sprint towards where she'd fallen; reflexively, Lucy tore after him—but Sammy whirled with monstrous quickness, placing himself squarely in their path. They froze, Lucy grabbing Raj's arm, staring up at him; oh, Christ, Penny thought aghast, he was _growing_ , right in front of them! Sammy bellowed in rage, drew back his fist, and before Penny could move or think had driven it completely through Raj's chest.

Penny screamed. Everything seemed to come to a stop with that sound. Howard turned sheet-white, reeled backwards and collapsed on his ass. Leonard's mouth fell open in horror. Raj stared up at Sammy, who was grinning down at him in fierce, malevolent triumph . . . and then, slowly, the grin faltered and crumpled into a frown. With equal slowness, Raj looked down at himself, blinking in puzzlement. Penny shook her head, feeling some inchoate realization trying to fight its way through horror. Something was off, something was awry—what was it—?

 _No blood_ , she suddenly understood. And in that instant, Raj and Lucy flickered out and disappeared. Sammy whipped around, baffled, and gave out a cry of thwarted fury.

The sound and the relief galvanized Penny, igniting a fire in her blood that burned away shock and confusion. She shared one quick glance with Leonard, who let her go and began scrambling backwards, before she stood. It was remarkable how calm she felt, really. She looked carefully around, walked over to a brass-polished baggage dolly, lifted it easily in two hands, then spun on one foot and hurled it at Sammy as if it had been shot out of a cannon.

Sammy fisted his hands together and swung them like a baseball bat. His blow caught the dolly and sent it hurtling out the plate-glass windows of the hotel with a thunderous crash, but the attack had served its purpose: it had put him off balance for the second she needed. She exploded off the floor, shot through the air like a guided missile and caught Sammy in the face with both fists held out before her. The impact knocked her careening around in mid-air, and she let herself drop to the floor in a three-point landing, braking, as Sammy went flying back through the lobby and crashed to the ground in front of the doors into the exhibit hall. Howard yelled triumphantly and pumped his fist in the air.

This time, Sammy was a lot slower to get to his feet, and when he did, the balked anger in his face now held more than a little wariness. Maybe even fear, Penny hoped. That would only be fair; she was dealing with more than a little fear herself, though she kept it off her face. From the hit Amy had taken, Penny was pretty sure Sammy was capable of hitting way harder now than anything else she'd encountered—certainly harder than his big friend upstairs; maybe even harder than the rotor blades on that FBI helicopter, which had been moving at blinding speed but had also struck at an angle and shattered from brittleness first. And now that Rozokov's bullet had proven there _were_ still ways to hurt her, Penny had lost a lot of interest in further testing her limits. For a singing, tense second of silence neither moved, only staring at one another.

Without warning, she leapt, combining the force of the jump and the speed of her flight into a single coiled-spring arc across the hotel atrium. She plummeted down on Sammy from above, gathering speed on the way down like a diving falcon, and in the second before impact busted out one of her old cheerleader moves: in mid-air, she somersaulted, bringing her legs up out of the way of his scything blow and smashing her feet down hard on his shoulders. Caught by surprise, Sammy failed to brace against it; the strike drove him face-first down into the floor again. Penny bent her knees with the impact and immediately leapt back into the air, this time coming to a hovering stop below the ceiling.

" _Sammy!_ " she shouted at him, as he fought his way back to his feet once more. She had to keep his attention focused on her somehow and away from the others, especially Leonard and Howard. "Back off a second and listen to me, will you? Just _listen!_ " Amazingly, it seemed to be working; Sammy hesitated, only staring up at her. "If you want to get a handle on what's happening here, this is not the way! I mean, Jesus, Sammy, look at yourself! Even if you pound us all through the floor, where you gonna go? What happens then?" Her own words to Mrs. Latham came back to her, and for all their pain, they were the truth. She threw that truth at him like another weapon. "Everything you thought you were going to do with your life, everything you thought you _were_ —that's _done_ , Sammy. Finished. No matter what happens here. The only choice you have is what you want to do now."

She let herself drift lower, desperate to reach him, to get past that confused frenzy in the man's eyes, the only part of him that still looked wholly human. _Come on, Penny, you can do this; just another sales job, right?_ "You can be a monster, Sammy, or you can let us _help_ you; you can make a new life worth living, even if you can't get the old one back. It doesn't have to be like this. We can figure something out. Come on, what do you say?" In sheer reflex, she reached one hand down, palm out towards him. The silent air sang again with tension, but this time in a completely different way.

The most infuriating thing of it all, Penny had just enough time to think, was that she really, truly believed she was actually getting through to him; that she _would_ have gotten through, if she'd had just a few seconds more to talk, to hold his eyes with her own. But she hadn't. The silence shattered with a bang and a crash as armoured SWAT cops burst into the lobby through the main doors, levelling automatic rifles and spreading out to form a line focused on Sammy. " _Everybody freeze!_ " yelled one of the men in the lead, a compact, blond young man whose vest read _FBI_ in large white letters. "All violence stops _immediately, right now_ —"

 _No!_ Penny was about to shout in sheer, pissed-off annoyance. But she didn't get the chance. Sammy leapt upwards in a standing jump of nearly fifteen feet, seized Penny's hand, and pulled her down with him as he fell back to the floor. A choked yell burst out of her, more sheer surprise than fear or anger, and then became a howl of disorientation as Sammy spun her around and around his head like a bolo. Faster and faster she whirled until, with a whipcrack that hurt so badly she half thought she'd broken her spine, he flung her across the lobby into the line of SWAT officers, knocking them tumbling like bowling pins. Penny rolled over and over and came to a stop, so dizzy she couldn't even move, blinking down at the blond FBI agent—she'd wound up sprawled across him like a carelessly tossed rug. He stared up at her in shock.

" _Open fire!_ " yelled one of the SWAT cops still standing, a tall man with brush-cut ginger hair. All the officers who'd managed to dodge Penny's hurtling flight and stay on their feet let loose at once. Bullets chewed the air of the lobby and hammered into Sammy, driving him backwards with roars of pain; hiding his face with his arms, he turned and plunged through the doors of the exhibit hall, vanishing from sight. The ginger-haired SWAT officer shouted more orders. Keeping up their hail of fire, the officers ran after Sammy into the exhibit hall, their comrades only seconds behind them as they scrambled to their feet and followed.

The blond FBI agent threw Penny off him, leapt to his feet, drew his pistol and levelled it straight at Penny's face. "Penny Carmichaels," he said grimly, "you are under arrest for obstruction of justice, resisting arrest, damage to government property, and probably a few other things I can't think of right now." Penny gaped at the muzzle of the pistol, too dizzy to grasp much of what he was saying but altogether too aware of how uncomfortably close the gun was to her eye. "You have the right to remain silent; if you choose to waive this right, anything—"

He was cut off by a scream of agony from the exhibit hall, and the rattle of automatic fire. His grim look wavered, and he put one hand to his ear, suddenly intent on his earpiece. The awful noises from the exhibit hall doors continued, coupled now with crashes and bangs and yells of fury, pain and terror. Second by second the look on the FBI agent's face transformed from resolve to horrified dismay. The barrel of his pistol drooped, and he turned to look back at the exhibit hall as if he'd forgotten Penny was there.

"Excuse me?" One arm around Howard, Leonard stumbled up; Lucy and Raj followed, supporting the still stunned-looking Amy between them. "I think we met a couple of days ago in Huntington Memorial, sir—you're Agent Anderson, you work with Special Agent Page, right? Dr. Leonard Hofstadter." He stuck his hand out, absurdly formal. When Anderson stared at it as if Leonard had tried to hand him a dead fish, Leonard sighed and glanced skyward. "Listen, we can discuss our legal situation later; right now, I think your problem is inside that hall, and I think Penny is the only person who stands any chance of getting your people out of there in something resembling one piece. So I'd really advise calling a truce on the whole arrest thing just for the moment."

Penny frowned. "Hey," she said, raising one hand. "What's with volunteering me to save these people's asses when they were just trying to arrest us all?"

Leonard blinked at her. "Um—'cause . . . you do that sort of thing now? Remember the helicopter?"

"Well, sure, Leonard, but _I'd_ kinda like to be the one who makes that call." Penny got to her feet, dusted herself off and glared at Anderson. "And speaking of the helicopter thing, by the way, I'm not seeing a lot of gratitude for saving your guys from that. 'Specially given it was them who caused the damn crash in the first place by trying to purée me in mid-air."

"Not to mention," Howard chimed in, as Anderson reddened, "that if it gets out you were the guy in charge who deliberately rejected a superhero's help in taking down a supervillain, and got a bunch of his own men tomato-pasted as a result, well, I don't see any promotions coming for that, to put it mildly. Eh, bubeleh?"

Anderson put his free hand over his face. "Oh, God," he groaned. He lifted his hands and let them fall. "All right. Miss Carmichaels, and any of the rest of you with enough oomph to deal with this guy, come with me. The rest of you, get the hell out of here and wait by the police vehicles out front. Understood?" He stepped back and gestured Penny ahead of him, motioning to the exhibit hall doors.

Penny swallowed. She was never going to run out of new ways to find this uncomfortable, it seemed. Fighting for her fiancé and her friends was one thing; this felt like she was being drafted. She'd never had any interest in being any kind of cop.

But she'd never thought much of walking out on a fight, either. She took a deep breath, nodded to Anderson, then turned and caught Leonard in a fierce embrace, kissing him until he wobbled dizzily. "Take _care_ of yourself, okay?" she whispered in his ear. "I didn't go through all this so you could get walloped by whatever the hell else is gonna come along."

"Believe me," said Leonard, getting his breath back, "I have no intention of putting myself in any more danger. I've been Tased, drugged, and sliced up by glass already today, that was more than enough." He smiled at her and nodded to the exhibit hall. "Go get 'em."

Penny took another deep breath and raked back her hair with both hands. She turned to Anderson. "Okay," she said. "I'll take point and try to pound him until he gives up. You're probably not going to be able to do much but distract him, but I'll give you one tip: If you have to shoot to kill, go for the eyes. They're probably the only weak point." She wanted to gulp, her own eyes stinging again with memory and something that felt oddly like betrayal. But she sensed intuitively that if she looked weak to this man he'd never take her seriously again. "Ready?"

Anderson, who had paused to check over his gun, only nodded. Penny squared her shoulders. "Then let's go." She lifted off the floor, rotated in mid-air, and shot towards the exhibit hall doors, keeping her speed down just enough for Anderson to follow her at a run.

10:01 P.M.

Leonard watched Penny and Anderson disappear into the exhibit hall, hoping he'd managed to keep his terror and bitterness off his face. All his life he had despised feeling helpless or useless, and the fact that there was nothing he could do to help or protect the woman he loved was like a knife in his gut. At the very least, thank God, that last kiss—the fact that she'd fought so hard to be here at all, to find him, to rescue him-seemed to have stifled the old self-doubt: However little it seemed like it, she must still need him, somehow. He hated feeling unnecessary even more than he hated feeling helpless.

Well, if he couldn't help Penny, there was still something he could do. He looked at Raj, who was still watching the exhibit hall door with wide eyes. "Raj? You okay?"

Raj started. "Uh, yes. Yes, I'm fine. Thanks to Lucy, I'm fine." He leant his forehead against Lucy's, closing his eyes as he did; she closed her eyes too.

"And Amy?" said Leonard. "How you doing?"

Amy's mouth set in a flat, straight line, the squint of her eyes as much angry as myopic. "Physically I seem to be okay. Emotionally I'm feeling pretty pissed off and useless. The irony of being invulnerable _and_ super-strong, but being unable to use either effectively because I couldn't copy twenty-twenty vision or fighting skill along with them, is not one I appreciate."

"Well, that's against somebody with their own powers," said Leonard. "Against ordinary people, I think you'll probably still be pretty useful, and I suspect that's going to be relevant in just a few minutes."

Lucy sighed, looking almost too tired and resigned to be afraid. "We're not going to wait safely by the police vehicles out front, are we?"

"No," said Leonard. "We're going to find Sheldon and Bernadette. Come on." He let go of Howard, staying upright and steady; it took some effort of will, but less so than it had a moment ago. It took far more effort to turn his back on the crashes, bangs and yells coming from the exhibit hall, but he had already come to terms with that. Without waiting, he headed for the corridor that, by the signage, led from the lobby towards the hotel offices.

The others caught up to him within seconds; Howard reached out as if to grab Leonard by the shoulder and then visibly reconsidered. "Leonard, Sheldon could have gotten Bernie and himself out of here in literally less than a second," he said. "What makes you think they're still here?"

"Because Sheldon said he'd meet us at the elevators, and when Sheldon says he'll do something, he does it," said Leonard, still striding along the corridor. The floor was carpeted, empty as far as Leonard could see, and the noise of the battle coming from the lobby fell off as if absorbed by the silence. He lowered his voice. "The only possible reason they wouldn't have met us would be that they couldn't. That suggests somebody took them, probably by sneaking up on them in that bar—their boss Rozokov is easily smart enough to pull that off. And if he can't sell me, Sheldon is just as valuable, once Rozokov figures out who he is."

" _Sell_ you?" said Amy, sounding appalled. "Or Sheldon? To whom? Why?"

"To the Russian government, or so he claimed," said Leonard. "And as for why, think about it, Amy. Getting a metahuman on your payroll is one thing. However inadvertently, Sheldon and I were the people who _created_ metahumans—and if we did it once, we might be able to do it again. Apparently that makes us really hot government employment prospects . . . for certain values of 'employment' that include 'chained up in a lab somewhere for the rest of our lives'."

"Or possibly just 'chained up until you write it all down clearly enough for someone else to use, and then shot'," said Howard grimly. Lucy and Raj both gasped, and Amy put a hand to her mouth. Howard glared at them all. "Oh, _come on_ , guys, has it really not dawned on you that these guys are playing for goddam _keeps_ here?" he snarled through gritted teeth. "Look, I had to _deal_ with the Russian government when I was over there for my NASA launch. Most of them are just bureaucrats, but a couple of times we had some _really really scary_ types pass through, and the guy in charge over there right now is ex-KGB, which pretty much makes him one of the scariest mo-fos on the _planet_. So please, guys, get this through your head right now: The only way we're gonna get these guys off our back is to show them we mean business even more than they do."

Raj stared at him. "And you think an asthmatic physicist with no powers, a half-practiced empath, a half-blind flying brick, a five-foot-six gadgeteer with dead batteries and a girl whose biggest power is to disappear like a ghost are going to pull that off?"

Leonard blinked as something occurred to him. "Actually," he said, "now that I think about it, I haven't needed my inhaler once since I woke up two days ago. Not even yesterday, after Penny and I—" He cut himself off abruptly, feeling his face heat at their expressions. "Well, that's not the point. But my eyesight might not have been the only thing that got fixed." At their blank looks, he added awkwardly, "The upshot being, I'm not an _asthmatic_ physicist. Any more."

"Whoopee," said Raj, after a pause just long enough to make Leonard feel particularly foolish.

"Although that does give me an idea," said Howard. "Come on." He hurried past Leonard, leading them further down the corridor until they came to the first open door; it looked as if most of the offices had been abandoned without bothering to lock them up. He plunged into the office and started pulling open every drawer he could find. "If anybody finds any D-cell batteries, sing out."

Leonard nodded. "Good idea. Amy, you and I will help Howard search; you break open anything that's locked. Raj, Lucy, if you guys can ghost out and work the corridors, looking for Sheldon or Bernadette the same way you looked for me, that'll expedite us getting out of here."

Lucy frowned. "Leonard, not to be a wet blanket, but how can you be sure they're still here?"

"Honestly? I'm not," Leonard admitted. "But if they're already gone then there's nothing we can do. If they _are_ still here, though—and I'm guessing Rozokov might be smart enough to have someplace to hide and wait for the cops to go away—then we might make all the difference." He patted his shirt pocket, then his trousers, then grimaced in remembrance. "Dammit, I've got to get a new phone. I don't suppose you guys brought anything to keep in touch?"

"Actually, we did," said Raj, sounding smug. He lifted one hand to show the mike peeping out at his wrist, then turned his head and tapped the white earpiece in his ear. "Courtesy of Mrs. Latham. If we find anything, we'll signal Howard."

"Excellent," said Leonard. "And we'll call you as soon as Howard gets some batteries. Go." He turned back to help ransack the office as Raj and Lucy headed off down the hall. "Mrs. Latham, huh?" he said to Howard, his stomach sinking a little. "Guessing she wasn't happy about all this."

"Wasn't, isn't, never gonna be," said Howard, pulling a desk drawer out entirely and turning it upside down; when the only things that hit the floor were paper clips, pencils and staples, he cursed. "But right now, that's pretty low on my priority list. You?"

"Oh yeah," Leonard agreed. He tugged at a drawer in another desk, found it locked, and turned. "Amy? Would you mind giving me a hand here?"

Amy sighed. "You know, that's almost exactly what Sheldon says when he needs me to open asparagus jars for him." She came over, knelt down, squinted at the drawer and yanked it open with a crack of broken metal. "Is this some kind of cosmic irony, Leonard? Getting superpowers changes your life less than you'd think?"

Leonard stopped and stared at her. "Amy," he said, "today I was kidnapped from my own wedding by the Russian mob. I would _kill_ to have a less changed life than I expected. And I didn't even get any powers except fixed-up eyesight."

Amy reddened. "Yes, of course. I'm so sorry, Leonard. I wasn't thinking."

"Not to worry," Leonard muttered, already feeling embarrassed. "Let's just keep looking." He returned to the search.

A moment later, however, Amy broke the silence again. "Actually, Howard, I do have one question, if I could ask?"

"Sure," said Howard without looking around. "Whatever. Ask away."

"Exactly what is a 'mo-fo'?"

10:04 P.M.

The zipties binding Bernadette's hands behind her back were cutting into her wrists, which would have worried her a lot more if she hadn't figured out how to shut off the pain from the wounds within a few minutes. All she felt now was an aggravating itch, as her enhanced metabolism kept trying to close the wounds around the zipties and failing—apparently the foreign bodies' presence in the wounds was enough to stop the healing process. She filed that away carefully in her mind. She'd tried to shut off the fear in her brain as well, but had had less success with that; toning down the neurotransmitters of the amygdala had stifled the panic, but her conscious mind was only too clearly aware of the danger level here, and there was nothing that tweaking your neurochemistry could do about that.

She and Sheldon were sitting slumped on metal conference-style chairs in a small room with two doors and no windows; Pyotr and the other security thug (Sean, Pyotr had called him at one point) had brought them here from the bar via the hotel's file storage room, which had proven to contain a hidden staircase behind one shelf packed with three-inch binders (Bernadette had found herself wondering crazily, amid her terror from the razor blade at her belly, if they'd used the same architect as Mrs. Latham's husband). Once they'd been tied up in the chairs, Pyotr had jabbed a syringe into Sheldon's left buttock without preamble; the pain had momentarily startled him out of his Taser-daze, but whatever drug it contained took effect too quickly for Sheldon to muster his powers. Sean had likewise injected Bernadette—pausing for a sickening second to gloat at her posterior—but her metabolism had processed the drug out of her system within a minute. She'd felt enough of it to realize it was a sedative, and obviously a potent one from the glaze in Sheldon's unfocused eyes, and had feigned a similar daze herself. If they got a chance to do anything, the element of surprise might be her only advantage.

For a few minutes it had looked like said chance wasn't going to happen any time soon. Sean had tried to call somebody, gotten no answer, and the two thugs had plopped down at a nearby table, taken out a deck of cards and started playing, of all things, Go Fish. As the minutes crawled by, they had started looking more and more bored as well as more and more on edge, glancing uneasily at her and Sheldon every minute or so. Bernadette had done nothing except sit and wait, letting her head slump down. She'd gotten out of the habit of daily prayer a long time ago, but all her childhood rosaries were coming back to her with startling clarity, and for lack of anything else to do, she'd been saying and counting Hail Marys in her head, wishing she could remember whether today was the day for saying the Joyful or the Sorrowful Mysteries. She'd been halfway through the fifth decade of her second rosary when, two minutes ago, footsteps had pounded on the staircase.

Sean shot to his feet while Pyotr hastily gathered up the cards. He hadn't finished, however, before a small, balding man in a cardigan burst in, sweat shining on his brow, and slammed the door closed behind him. "We have problems," he said. Bernadette could hear his fright in his thickened accent, and saw it in the pulse hammering in the blue veins at his temples. "Hofstadter's girlfriend turned out to be a lot harder to deal with than I thought. We're going to have to relocate down the block. Immediately."

Sean and Pyotr looked at each other, then at the balding man. "Anyone else coming?" said Sean. The balding man shook his head. That really seemed to shake the other two. Both muttered affirmatives, then moved to their prisoners and knelt. Pyotr took out a large knife and cut the zipties around Sheldon's wrists and ankles efficiently, catching him as he slumped forward out of the chair.

Sean, however, only tapped his razor blade thoughtfully, looking at Bernadette, then at the balding man. "Mr. Rozokov," he said, "it's the man we need, right? She's not really any use to us?"

Rozokov expelled an angry snort. "Sean, if you want to indulge yourself now, you'd better be quick. I don't know how long it will take for someone to find this place, and I'd rather not have pursuers." He went to the other door, the one they hadn't entered by, and began looking through keys. Pyotr, who already had Sheldon slung over his shoulders, gave Sean a disgusted look and deliberately turned away. Sean grinned, took off his jacket, and without haste ran his razor blade down the front of Bernadette's blouse, parting the fabric with a sound like tearing paper.

Terror, fury and nausea flooded Bernadette's guts like a sewage plant turning over. But she hadn't gotten Penny's super-strength or Lucy's ability to ghost out. Even if she could somehow get Sean's razor away from him by surprise, she didn't have the reach or the muscle to do anything with it. But there had to be some way to escape this. Some way to—

The idea came to her like a cricket bat whacking her in the brain, so hard and fast it almost hurt, so desperate it left her reeling.

Sean had pushed back the ruins of her blouse from her shoulders, and was now considering her cleavage like a starving man looking at a picture on a menu cover. Not taking his eyes from the décolletage on display, he stepped around behind her and removed the zip ties on her wrist, then her ankles. She let herself groan in pain as circulation came back to the limbs, fluttering her eyelids as if only semi-conscious. He returned to kneel before her (obviously not having noticed the wounds already beginning to close on wrists and ankles) and reached out to slide the razor blade under one bra strap.

It took all the resolve and courage she could find to act. If she was wrong, this would be the kind of mortal sin that she hadn't realized, until this very moment, she still at least somewhat believed in. But she had literally run out of any other hope. At the last, she decided, it would be _her_ choice what she took the chance on surviving.

Bernadette's hands flashed up, grabbed Sean's wrist, and pulled it forward, sinking the razor blade into her own throat and slicing it across in a blast of silver agony.


	14. Chapter 14

THE METAHUMAN TRANSFIGURATION

 **Description:** The gang gets superpowers. It's not as cool as some of them always thought. Alternate Season 9 premiere.

 **Notes:** As before, the violence in this chapter may be verging on the edge of M rating, so those with sensitive stomachs are hereby cautioned. Everybody else, well, I'm sure you're all getting sick of the sorry-I'm-late-with-the-update apologies, so I'll skip them and just say I sincerely _hope_ not to go so long between updates next time. Thanks to everyone for bearing with my urge to digress into Lenny smut.

 **Disclaimer:** The author does not own THE BIG BANG THEORY or any of the characters.

\- 14 -

GRAND CAMELOT HOTEL, LAS VEGAS, NEVADA

FRIDAY, AUGUST 28, 2015, 10:05 P.M.

To Raj's empathic perceptions, the psychic shape of the hotel had changed entirely. When he'd been searching floor by floor for Leonard, it had felt like sifting through a columnar cloud of fireflies, the minds densest at the bottom (near the exhibit hall) and the top (the rooftop dance floor) but distributed more or less evenly throughout, except for the empty floors Howard had spotted. Then the gunfire from Rozokov's men, and the fear it had set off, had swept the building like a tidal wave of freezing grey seawater and emptied it out. What remained felt, to Raj, like the hollow remains of a broken hourglass, with only occasional stragglers trickling their way down the staircases. He and Lucy were alone in the silent corridors as they ran down one, and then another, past empty offices and abandoned work areas, his mind stabbing out in every direction and finding nothing like what he was searching for.

Tiny spots of force remained here and there. In the offices near the Camelot's central atrium, Howard, Amy and Leonard were three brilliant dots of heat in Raj's mind. In the cavernous space he knew to be the exhibit hall, he could feel the anger, fear and adrenaline of ongoing battle, and the bursts of pain as blows were exchanged and bodies flew back and forth. One mind in that mêlée he recognized as Penny's, the bright clear crackle of her anger and determination as pure as everything else about her spirit. It occurred to him, briefly, that while he had never wondered why Leonard loved her, now he _knew_ why, in a way maybe even Leonard himself might not ever grasp.

He usually took his faith's metaphysical doctrines with a grain of salt—and certainly Hinduism had no absolute dogmas about whether two souls could, in fact, be bound in some karmic way—but standing next to Penny holding Leonard in the elevator, he had felt their minds fitting together like two halves of a broken whole, the connections between them forged at a level so deep and strong his own empathic powers could achieve only a shadow of it. Only the fear and tension of the moment had kept him from misting up at its beauty.

And that, Raj realized, might be the key. He held up a hand, waving Lucy to a stop. "Hold on, hold on," he gasped. "Let's stop for a moment. I want to try something."

"Okay," said Lucy, looking relieved herself for the pause. "What's up?"

"I think I've been going about this all wrong," said Raj. "Something I noticed in the elevator between Leonard and Penny: People who've shaped themselves to fit another person, they create connections to that person. And if what I sense has any kind of objective reality, those connections go beyond simply the mental experience. The two most important people in Sheldon's and Bernadette's life are Amy and Howard—and I know where Amy and Howard are. Maybe, if I start from them, I can follow those connections to find our friends. Does that make sense?"

Lucy shrugged helplessly. "About as much as anything else that's happened. Which to me means, not a lot. But don't let that stop you."

Raj frowned. "Well, I would have liked more enthusiastic support, but you did in fact just save my life so I won't carp. The upshot is, I may have to seriously zone out here. Can I get you to watch over me?"

Lucy nodded, looking earnest. "Oh sure. Don't worry, Raj. I got your back. Believe me." She paused a beat, then added in a deadpan so innocent it took him a moment to catch it, "If I ever want to enjoy your backside, I'd better make sure I _do_ cover your back." She gave the tiniest smirk.

Raj's face went hot. He coughed in surprise and cleared his throat furiously. "Well, um, yes, I, ah, hm. Well. Let's table that topic for later. But, uh . . . thank you." He knelt down and sat on the linoleum tile of the floor, trying to find the position that would be most comfortable, and after a moment stretched out lying completely flat on his back, hands folded together on his stomach. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and cleared his mind with the meditation techniques he'd tried once to teach Sheldon; it had been long ago enough now that he could remember the resulting fiasco with rueful laughter.

 _Imagine a night sky above an empty plain, with only the stars to light the emptiness. See the patterns and the names: Orion, Cassiopeia, Andromeda, Ursa Major and Minor, Draco and Pavo. Listen to the silence of the infinite spaces between them. And then, when your mind is silent and empty but for starlight, allow the answer you seek to take shape beneath that starlight._

Counterpoint to the stars above, the minds he sensed blossomed into clarity, orbs of fire burning with a hundred hues of light, hot and cold, smooth and jagged, fierce and faltering. Lucy's mind loomed above him, its dominant hue still fear's cold blue-grey, but taking on more complex shades and streaks by the hour. Beyond the building, he could feel the waves of a thousand minds gathering to watch: the curiosity of rubberneckers, the panic and confusion of those who'd fled and now waited for resolution, the grim resolve of the police, the worry and determination of paramedics and rescue workers. And moving through the offices where he'd left them, he found Howard and Amy once more, Leonard at their side. Focusing in on them, by some intuitive means he couldn't have explained if he tried, he let their sense expand to fill his consciousness, staring at the light of their souls like a moth hypnotized by a flame.

And . . . there; _yes_. From all three of them, the energies of their deepest passions reached beyond their own mortal shells—spun out like the finest of silken fibers into an invisibly thin but steel-strong cord. Were they made of Sheldon's oneirion particles, or only channels for them in some even deeper structure of the universe? From Leonard, the cord ran back towards the hotel's main atrium and the exhibit hall adjoining, where Penny and Sammy were still locked in battle. But from Howard and Amy, the cords ran in tandem through the building, past Raj and Lucy towards the south side of the office complex. Raj let all else fade from his senses until those two cords were the only thing burning there. He opened his eyes.

And before him, seemingly visible like the fading purple aftertrack of twin sparklers slashed across his vision, the cords stretched out through the wall. Mouth agape despite himself, Raj scrambled to his feet. "Sacred Krishna, I think I've found them," he said. "Or at least I found the _way_ to find them!" He ran to the wall and pounded on it in frustration. "I can see the connection, but it goes straight through here, probably directly through the building's structure—damn it, now we need to find our way around to see where this comes out—"

"Uh—Raj," said Lucy, tapping him on the shoulder. He rounded on her, almost angrily, but she only raised her eyebrows . . . and stuck one hand straight through the wall. She held out the other to him. "Well?"

"Okay, I'd just like to remind you that three days ago having superpowers was still just a comic book trope," said Raj defensively. He grabbed her hand and grimaced. "Oh, boy, this part isn't going to be fun, is it?"

"Oh, suck it up, you big baby," said Lucy with a nervous grin, and pulled him headfirst into the wall.

It was like getting struck by waves of carbonated, mildly electrified water: they passed through plaster, load-bearing steel beams, layers of insulation and webs of pipe and cabling, gasping for breath whenever they could. Each separate substance felt different in its spiky tingling, but all were equally unpleasant, to Raj at least. Following the invisible, glowing tracks of energy, Raj guided Lucy through the hotel's structure by pressure and gesture, their speech as occluded as their breathing. It took Raj only a few seconds to realize the psychic conduits were sliding downwards, pointing towards the south side of the hotel; as they broke into an open corridor whose windows opened on the street, the conduits disappeared into the floor. Raj held up one hand, waving Lucy to a stop, and then put his finger to his lips in the universal _Shhhhh!_ sign. Lucy nodded, wide-eyed.

Just above where the conduits met the floor, a plain door marked with the simple sign FILING hung open, just a crack. Raj eased it open and slipped in, Lucy following. When he flipped on the light, the room proved to be full of metal storage shelves, each shelf filled with thick binders dated by month and year. They hurried up and down each aisle, finding nothing. Raj ground his teeth and looked at Lucy. "Whatever the conduits led to, it should be under here, but I don't see any exits . . . ."

Lucy frowned, looking around. "I could try dropping through the floors, I guess, but if there's no empty space under here I might go too far down." At his puzzled look, she explained, "I don't know if you noticed, Raj, but you can't breathe when you're inside something. If I went too far down and couldn't get back into empty space before my breath gave out . . . ." She took a deep breath and turned away, dust gritting beneath her feet.

Raj nodded, feeling cold. "Okay, right, important safety tip. Good to know." He put his hand to his chin, trying to think. He'd missed something important. Maybe if he let the conduits go and switched back to trying a general, all-round sense? He might not be able to find them again if he did. But somebody, this Rozokov or somebody else, had clearly brought Sheldon and Bernadette this way, and _they_ couldn't ghost out: there had to be _some_ way to get down where those conduits ran, some hidden entrance or—

Silver agony sliced across his throat, shattering his sense of the conduits like a katana swung through glass. He screamed aloud, stumbled backwards and collapsed, the anguish and terror roaring through him like a cataract. With it came an unmistakeable truth: the identity of the sufferer. _"Bernadette!"_ he howled. He clutched at his throat, somehow simultaneously feeling both the solid dry flesh of his own neck and a horrid, pulsing gush of wet heat flooding out from a sickening _rupture_ where no rupture should be. " _Bernadette! No! No!_ "

"Raj, _where?!_ " Lucy shrieked at him, and when he pointed desperately straight at the pain—down at an angle through the floor—Lucy nodded, stepped back, took a few running steps and dove straight into the floor as if it was a swimming pool, vanishing completely. The dust and grit on the floor splashed out to either side like ripples on water . . . and realization slapped Raj hard upside the head, even as the horrible pain in his throat began to fade.

They'd been so hung up on using their powers to search, it hadn't even occurred to either of them to do something as simple as look for footprints in the dust! And there they were, going straight in Lucy's direction to a corner of the room, a combination of stumbling steps and the straight lines of someone being dragged. The trail disappeared beneath one of the shelves. Raj ran to it, hurled every book on the shelf off it and fumbled around. Within a minute he found a catch at the back under the top shelf. The shelf swung out on hidden hinges. Behind it, a staircase descended into the ground. Raj flung himself down it.

10:07 P.M.

It really was remarkably like swimming, although Lucy made one mistake: she had been pushing so fast through the floor that when she broke out into the ceiling of the room below, she moved too far and fell out. She landed badly on her arms, and a sickening _crack_ cut through the splash she made as she thudded down onto her back; a white-hot bolt of pain transfixed her left wrist and the breath left her lungs. For a moment, winded and hurting, she didn't realize she'd landed in a pool of something hot and red. Then it hit her. She whipped her head over, saw Bernadette's limp body lying face down in the blood, and threw herself backwards with a shriek. Staring in horror, she covered her mouth with her good hand, barely aware of the coppery moisture she'd smeared over her face. The sticky, damp warmth of her clothes made her stomach turn over.

"Oh no," she moaned, "oh no no no, oh, God, no, please, no . . . ." The moan trailed away to a shuddering, gasping husk of breath, the only sound in the room.

Then Bernadette jackknifed upright with a sudden deafening gasp, so sharp and loud that Lucy screamed again and actually dropped halfway into the floor before catching herself. As she watched, eyes bulging, the horrid gaping gash in Bernadette's throat sealed over, shrinking inwards from both ends, the flesh rippling and smoothing together like plasticine molded skilfully by invisible fingers. The deathly pallor in Bernadette's skin flushed away in healthy pinkness. Bernadette coughed, spat out a mouthful of blood, and shook her head, blinking. " _Uh!_ " she gasped. "Oh, sweet suffering Christ, that _hurt!_ Oh, my God, I—" She frowned suddenly. " _Lucy?_ "

"B-B-Bernadette?" Lucy stuttered. She pushed herself up out of the floor, staring. "Are—are you—?"

Bernadette nodded, the relief on her face too intense for anything like a grin. Without warning she threw herself at the other girl, hugging her tightly. To her own shock Lucy found herself returning the embrace with her good arm, laughing wildly, in a sound that wobbled on the edge of weeping. Then she made the mistake of trying to bring her other arm into it and yelled in pain. Bernadette broke away. "Oh, God, Lucy, I'm sorry! Did I hurt you?"

"No, no, no," Lucy said hurriedly. "My fault, totally my fault. Raj led us here but we couldn't find a way down, so I went through the floor and, uh, kinda fell." She looked at her wrist and felt ill again. Already it had swollen and turned an ugly shade of puce. "Oh, God, that isn't just a sprain is it?"

"No," said Bernadette, taking Lucy's arm carefully in her small hands. Her fingers moved delicately over the skin, their touch so light that it actually felt oddly soothing. "Been a while since basic anatomy, but I'm pretty sure that's a break. Bad one, too . . . actually, I . . . ." She trailed off. Her eyes widened, staring at the injury, and her face lost all expression, as if her mind had gone elsewhere. Then she closed her eyes and drew in a slow, silent breath.

Lucy frowned. "Bernadette? Bernadette, are you all—" It was her turn to cut herself off with a shocked gasp. Around Bernadette's fingers, where they rested on Lucy's forearm, a faint, glowing shimmer gathered like water condensing on glass. Cool, sparkling tingles surged throughout the limb, the pain seeming to dissolve into those tingles the way an Alka-Seltzer tablet fizzed and dissolved in water. The swelling in her arm subsided before her eyes. All of it happened faster than Lucy quite grasped; before she realized it, she had jerked her arm out of Bernadette's grasp and held it up, gaping at it. It was completely, perfectly healed.

Bernadette was staring too, with what looked like almost equal astonishment. "I . . . I could _feel_ the break," she whispered. "Like I can feel anything that's wrong in my own system. And I could feel how to fix it, too . . . my God. Oh, my God." She crossed herself, the movement slow and deliberate; Lucy could see her hand shaking as it moved.

One of the room's two doors burst open; Raj stumbled in, gasping, and skidded to a stop as he saw the girls kneeling together in the blood. He spat something horrified-sounding in Hindi and covered his mouth, then fumbled in his pocket. "Don't move, either of you! I'm calling 9-1-1—oh, _khotey ki aulad_ , I never did get a new iPhone, _dammit!_ " He brought his wrist-mike to his mouth. "Hold on, I'll radio Leonard, they might—"

"Raj! _Raj!_ " Bernadette shouted. She scrambled to her feet, slipped in the blood and went down again, and only then seemed to realize the mess she'd made. " _Euuuuchhhh_ ," she moaned, whipping her hands away from her and scattering drops of blood everywhere. "Oh, my God, this is so gross!" She collected herself and waved her arms at Raj. "Look, Raj, I'm fine! I healed! We're both fine!"

"You—you what? You're fine?" Raj blinked. "Oh. Oh, that's right, you can heal, can't you? Oh my God." He suddenly slumped and covered his chest with one hand. "Oh, my God, thank Krishna, thank Vishnu and Brahma and all the boddhisattvas . . . ." He trailed off and frowned at her. "Bernadette—what happened to your blouse? For that matter, what happened to you and Sheldon?"

"Two security guys caught us by surprise," said Bernadette. She tried more slowly to get up again, and this time succeeded. Lucy joined her. "They Tased Sheldon and held a knife on me until we got down here, and then they sedated us both—it wore off for me inside a minute, but Sheldon's probably still out. Then a couple of minutes ago this little balding guy rushes in and tells us we all have to run, and then one of the security guys said, well, they really only needed Sheldon, right? And then he—" She stopped, blinking, as if she suddenly wasn't sure how to go on. "Then he . . . he . . . ."

She looked down at herself, as if only just realizing that her blouse was in tatters around her waist, her bra clearly exposed and her body smeared head to foot with blood. The colour drained out of her face again; she swayed on her feet and fell against Lucy, who just managed to hold her up. Her skin felt ice-cold. Lucy gaped at her. "Bernadette? Are you okay? Are you—" She turned to Raj, and broke off. Raj's jaw hung open, his eyes wide and wet in aghast horror as he stared at Bernadette. He looked as if he'd just received the worst news one could imagine—the death of a child, maybe, or hearing that one's whole family had been wiped out in a disaster . . . .

 _Oh, shit_. Whatever Bernadette was feeling, Raj was feeling it too. Shock must have blunted the trauma until now, but the experience was obviously coming back afresh . . . just in time to hit Raj as well. Lucy wondered frantically what to do. She wasn't sure she could handle one person breaking down, let alone two.

Then everything in Raj's face seemed to close, as if something inside him had just gone away, or shut down. He blinked, took a deep breath, and looked at the other door. "They went that way," he said to Bernadette, his voice flat as paper. "Yes?" When Bernadette nodded, he looked at Lucy, and it was as if she was a complete stranger. "Lucy, if you take Bernadette up the stairs the way I came in, you'll be at ground level, near the wall. Please take her through the outer wall and out of here, where she'll be safe. And—" For a moment his breath, and his voice, trembled; he paused, then went on. "And I would get her to a hospital, so they can make sure her child is all right."

The last words were like a kick in Lucy's gut, silencing the furious disagreement she'd been about to spit at him—how _dare_ he leave them behind? But he was right. There was a baby involved here. Instead she only nodded. Raj didn't even nod back. He only spun and dashed out the door Bernadette had indicated. Bernadette stared after him.

Lucy tried to tug her gently towards the stairs. "Bernadette, come on. You know he's right. We have to check on the—"

"Raj, _wait!_ " Bernadette screamed, and tore free of Lucy's arms to sprint down the corridor after Raj.

Lucy blinked after her. Then she did something she hadn't done since, as far as she could remember, she'd been a child; maybe not ever. She raised her arms to the ceiling and shrieked aloud at it in wordless frustration. When she finished, she paused a moment, panting. Damn. She'd had no idea how good that sort of thing felt. Maybe that primal-scream therapist had been onto something after all.

She skittered around the puddle of blood and burst into a run, bolting down the corridor after her friends. _Friends,_ she marveled, even as she ran.

10:09 P.M.

The twenty-foot-high video screen display came crashing down on Penny in a cacophony of shattering plastic and clanging metal. Penny flung one arm across her eyes and hunched down, taking the impacts with grunts and gasps of pain; by the time everything had finished and the last shards had tinkled to the ground, she was buried in the wreckage, and a little dizzy with the blows she hadn't quite kept off her head. She let herself rest a moment, sucking in dust-filled gasps, trying to get her equilibrium back. _Damn,_ she thought. _He's getting smarter._

She could hear the rasping sounds of Sammy's breathing some few yards away, fast and heavy. Good; this was taking a toll on him too. Beyond that, the hall had gone strangely quiet. After Anderson and the cops had proven one last time the uselessness of bullets against Sammy, Anderson had started shepherding the wounded out of the hall, calling in paramedics to help; Penny had done her best to keep Sammy distracted, hurling chairs, tables, punches and kicks at him as she jinked back and forth just beyond his reach. He had managed to score solid hits on her once or twice, both times sending her hurtling back through rows of pop-up booths, shelves, banner displays and adult products, but so far she'd been able to recover and take to the air before he could close for a followup strike. He had finally clued into that tactic, it seemed. This time, rather than finishing his charge, he'd skewed abruptly to one side, grabbed the massive four-sided video display tower and flung the whole thing at her, catching her by surprise. That it seemed to have worked might have caught _him_ by surprise, too, she thought.

"Ms. Carmichaels?!" She recognized the yell as Anderson's; she was genuinely surprised by the real fear and worry she could hear in it. " _Penny?!_ Are you all right?!" Then there came a sudden guttural snarl, and Anderson's yell choked off. Penny thought she might have heard the smallest whisper of, "Oh, _shit_." She sighed. Well, that narrowed her options.

She hunched down, gathered her strength, and burst explosively up and out of the wreckage pile in a single leap, stopping just short of the exhibit hall's ceiling. Sammy, who had turned towards Anderson and begun stalking in his direction, whipped back to glare at her with another snarl. He had absorbed more and more of the material thrown at him, and now looked like nothing human at all, a monstrosity of spikes and metal-plastic scales nearly eight feet high with unevenly sized limbs; only the hobbling gait imposed by his asymmetrical legs had let Penny dodge some of his punches. Between the two of them—as well as the useless gunfire of the SWAT officers, before they'd given it up as a bad job and pulled back to close the hall off—most of the exhibition had been reduced to piles of wreckage, with flattened booths, shredded signs and banners, burst packages of paraphilic paraphernalia, and broken chairs and tables scattered in all directions. Looking around at it, Penny found herself letting out a flummoxed breath. Man, she wouldn't want to sit in on the meeting for _this_ insurance claim.

"Jesus . . . frigging . . . Christ," Sammy growled up at her, sounding almost more exhausted than pissed off. "What's it take to _kill_ you, bitch?!"

Penny smiled grimly at him. "More than you got, Sammy." Without giving him any more warning than that, she flipped into a dive, shot straight down at him, then pulled herself up and around with a backwards somersault and caught him right under the chin with a solid kick. The blow lifted him up—though not as much as a previous strike had; either he was getting heavier or she was getting tired—and flung him backwards into one of the few displays still standing, an array of leather and rubber BDSM fetish gear. As she thudded down on the carpet with a three-point landing, Sammy's weight brought the display down with a crash—

—and he screamed aloud, a sound of shock and agony that punctured Penny's gleeful triumph like a pin in a balloon. He writhed a moment in the wreckage, then collapsed, limp.

Ice-cold horror clamped up Penny's stomach in a knot of nausea. Oh, God, had she _killed_ him?! She'd never meant to _kill_ anyone! Without meaning to, she scrambled to her feet and ran towards the display, too upset to think of flight. Sammy's body lay absolutely limp amid the ruins of the booth, with masks and whips and cuffs scattered around him like some weird snowfall. Had he fallen on a metal display pin or some sharp fetish tool, maybe managing to find a crack in that warped carapace? Crap on a cracker, it would be just her luck if she got hauled up for manslaughter on top of everything else—

 _Whhhss-CRACK!_ She barely saw Sammy's arm move before a lash of fiery pain grabbed her throat and closed it. Suddenly she couldn't breathe. Her eyes bulging, her hands flew to her throat and found a cord wrapped tightly around it, too tight for her to wedge her fingers in. Sammy's head snapped up, and she had just enough time to see him grinning like a fiend before the whip around her neck yanked her off her feet and sent her hurtling through the air like a cannonball. She flew nearly forty yards, crashed into the far wall of the exhibit hall and thudded to the floor, her vision blurry and dim, her whole body numb except for her neck and shoulders, which were on fire. The whip he'd grabbed from the display still in his hand, Sammy clambered to his feet, grin fixed in place. Penny felt the floor vibrate under her, step by step, as he closed in.

" _No!"_ The helpless scream was Anderson's; Penny heard gunshots go off like they were miles away and under water, dull and thick and fuzzy. Sammy's step didn't waver at all. Blinking hazily, Penny tried to remember how to get up, but it seemed to be beyond her. Shadow fell over her. Sammy's blurry form towered up above her in a dark spiky haze.

He tossed away the whip and reached down; his massive hands clamped shut about Penny's throat and hauled her up, slamming her against the wall. Almost buried in the centre of that monstrous face, Sammy's eyes—brown and narrow and bright with pain and fury—met hers, getting fainter and darker by the second. Her lungs wouldn't work, and when she tried to stiffen her neck muscles and open up her throat, Sammy's fingers gripped her with a power easily the equal of her own. She brought her arms up weakly and flailed at him, but the strength was running out of her like blood.

"Yeah," Sammy rumbled. "What I thought. You know how to brawl, bitch, I'll give you that. But you never learned how to put someone _down_. Did you."

Penny tried to think of an answer for that. But nothing came up through the blackness drowning her brain. And she wouldn't have had the breath to say it anyway. Oh, God, was this _it?_ And she'd told _Leonard_ to take care of himself . . . . Her cheeks felt wet. This wasn't fair. Dammit, this wasn't fair—

"Put the girl _down, now._ " The words were accompanied by the metallic click of a pistol cocking. Anderson had had to reach up between Sammy's arms to do it, but Sammy's distraction with choking Penny had kept him unnoticed as he raced towards them, until he ducked down and came up right between the two, the muzzle of his gun pointed almost directly at Sammy's eye. "Sammy, right? Drop her, Sammy, or we find out if your eye's got the same armour as the rest of you." His voice and face were hard as stone. "One. Two. Thr—"

Sammy yanked Penny backwards, not letting her go, and slammed her against Anderson, crushing the FBI agent's body between Penny's body and his own. Anderson's body armour saved him from being impaled on the spikes protruding from Sammy's carapace, but the sheer force of the impact stunned him and dropped him to the floor, and a kick sent him hurtling away into another pile of wreckage. He didn't get up. The last shreds of her rage stirring, Penny tried her oldest and favourite shot: the groin kick. It only bumped feebly off Sammy's thigh, and then her leg fell dangling.

Sammy made a grumbling sound and smashed Penny against the wall again, this time hard enough to dent it in a webwork of cracks. "Okay, bitch," he rumbled, "I've had enough of this. Closing time." Impossible as she had thought it, his grip tightened further. Penny felt like her head was going to explode. There had to be a way out of this. Had Superman or Supergirl ever been in this situation? Christ, this was the last way she would ever have expected to die: wishing she'd read more of Leonard's comic books . . . .

" _HEY! UGLY!_ "

With a groan of frustration and rage, Sammy looked over his shoulder; his grip relaxed with his distraction, enough that Penny could drag some oxygen into her lungs. Her vision cleared, and she blinked furiously. She was sure she'd recognized that voice. From the way Sammy said, " _You,_ " she thought he might have too. The monster made a sound halfway between laughter and a roar. "Wanna play hero, Energizer bunny?"

At the double-door hall entrance, Amy and Leonard gaped around at the wreckage. Hovering a yard above the floor of the exhibit hall, a heavy orange-and-white box clutched under one arm and his force-tube projector in the other, Howard tried to grin. The attempt looked particularly ghastly against the huge bruise on his swollen face. "Not that much, actually," he said. The trembling in his voice undermined his attempted nonchalance. "But I did think of asking you to step outside . . . though on second thought, you know what? Forget asking." He levelled the tube, kicked his skates backward and pressed the button.

A screeching whipcrack split the air; Penny just barely saw the shimmering wave of force flying at them before it hit Sammy and her both with the force of a runaway freight locomotive. The impact smashed them both completely through the wall, bursting metal and concrete like balsa wood, hurling them out into the hotel's parking lot under the night sky. Penny rolled over and over on the asphalt and finally came to a stop, blinking up at the neon-lit air of the Strip, sucking in gasps of air as cries and yells of panic went up everywhere around.

 _God,_ she thought dimly, _I am never going to make fun of Leonard for his asthma again._

"OW!" Sammy bellowed, clambering to his feet. Concrete and rebar had adhered to him, and already it was melting into his form, further warping it. As Howard, Amy and Leonard appeared in the gaping, ragged hole in the hotel's wall, staring out at them, Sammy lifted his fist and shook it at them. "Ow, you—you—I'm gonna _kill_ you, you little—"

Penny sighed, rolled back upright, picked up one of the concrete car-stops and hit Sammy with it like it was a baseball bat. He flew out of the parking lot and landed on top of a traffic-jammed Buick in the street, crushing the roof in. Penny gulped, then winced; the involuntary movement felt like she'd swallowed razors. "Sorry!" she shouted after the Buick's driver, who was already halfway down the block.

She looked back at the hotel. "Hey, Howard," she called, waving to him, startled at the hoarseness of her own voice. "I see you found a power-up."

Howard lifted the orange-and-white box with an attempt at a nonchalant shrug, although the box was clearly too heavy for the movement. "Borrowed it from a maintenance cupboard," he called back. "It's for their ceiling-rig electric carts. I just wish this thing came with a shoulder strap." He ducked through the hole in the wall and skated over to her, Leonard and Amy trotting in his wake. As he got close enough to see her better he grimaced. "Ow. You look like you're wearing a bruise-coloured scarf."

Penny touched her throat and immediately hissed in pain. Her neck was ringed in a hot, swollen ache, and as the adrenaline of the fight died down the stabbing pain of breathing and speaking grew more and more acute by the moment. "Ow," she husked. "Yeah. I guess being bulletproof doesn't work against strangling, for whatever fucking reason _that_ might be . . . ." She glared at Leonard as if the whole thing was his fault, which she knew perfectly well was being unreasonable about things even if technically all this _was_ his fault—well, his and Sheldon's—but dammit, she was tired, and pissed off, and in more physical pain than she'd experienced for a long, long time. She felt entitled to be a little unreasonable.

"Actually I think it makes sense," said Leonard. "I think it's about momentum. Your power kicks in by stopping anything coming at you above a certain velocity, or maybe above a certain pressure-distribution footprint, or both, so if somebody got their hands on you slow enough to make contact and was strong enough that your neck muscles couldn't resist it . . . ." He trailed off at Penny's glower. "But we can talk about that sort of thing later," he finished lamely. "We better get somebody from the cops out here to chain Sammy up—" He looked over at the wrecked Buick, then groaned. "Oh no."

Penny spun. Sammy was gone. On the Strip ahead, screeches of brakes, car horns, and screams were filling the air. And as they watched, a sportscar went flying into the air and crashed over to one side. Moments later, further north, another car was hurled sideways. Howard put his hand over his eyes, then looked at Penny. "We can't just leave him to the cops, can we?"

Penny sighed. "Two against— _ow._ " She took a deep breath and tried again in a whisper. "Two against one might make the difference."

"Or three against one?" offered Amy.

Penny knew why Amy had volunteered and loved her for it, but she made herself state the truth, putting her hands on Amy's shoulders in consolation. "Not if you can't see well enough to fight, Ames," she whispered. Amy slumped, her face halfway between bitter disappointment and sullen anger. "Sorry, bestie." She hesitated, glanced at Leonard, then pulled Amy close and directed the next whisper straight into her ear. "But you can do me the biggest favour of all. Look after Leonard for me, okay?"

Amy only nodded. Penny let her go, gave Leonard a quick but intense kiss and lofted into the air. "Howard?"

Howard sighed. "Next time, buddy," he said to Leonard, "we're gonna get Raj to plan your reception. 'Cause even one of his murder mysteries would be more fun than this." He turned, fumbling with his controls, and then shot into the air with a startled yelp as he twisted the power dial. This time, he managed to keep his feet under him. Penny gave him a thumbs up, whirled about in mid-air and shot down the street after Sammy. Howard's skates sliced the air as he hurtled along in her wake.

10:11 P.M.

Sheldon had very few fond memories of his father; they had never understood or liked each other, and Sheldon had long suspected that George Cooper Sr. might have done better as a father to the hooligans and oafs who'd bullied his younger son rather than to that son himself. But he still vividly recalled—even more clearly than he normally recalled everything else—an odd, uncomfortable evening during his ninth year, where his father, sober for once, had come to his room after the latest schoolyard punchup. _There's one thing I can tell you, boy,_ he'd said, awkwardly but seriously. _When you get your growth, you'll most like have the Cooper height, and if you put a little work into it, you'll get the Cooper shoulders too. Then ain't nobody gonna give you any trouble you can't give them back. So however bad things are right now, it ain't gonna last forever. Believe me, son. One day you're gonna get your own back._

It had been kindly meant, and Sheldon had already cried himself to near-exhaustion. He had therefore refrained from telling his father how little he thought of physical violence as a solution to anything, how little he looked forward to puberty and all its irrationalities (he'd read up on everything to expect by the time he'd turned seven), and how little of that horrid sweaty physical "work" he ever intended to do. In the end, he'd gotten himself out of Everholt well before adolescence anyway, purely with his brain. Not that there wasn't more bullying at college, but for the most part it had merely been verbal mockery—the jocks minded to do nastier things than catcall usually saw beating up a pre-teen as beneath them—and he could ignore it, as he'd ignored what he could back in Texas. So while he was appreciative of the height, when it finally came—there was nothing like being able to _physically_ look down on someone to make it clear how much you intellectually looked down on them—he'd never had much benefit of it.

Until now. It was not exactly the benefit his father would have expected, but every time the thugs carrying him found his deadweight sliding out of their arms because he was too tall and gangly to manage well, he rejoiced. The more he slowed them down, the more likely it was that _somebody_ would catch them and teach them a lesson.

When the thyroid-eyed maniac in the blue blazer, Sean, had caught up to Rozokov and Pyotr, his blazer had been soaked with blood. Sheldon had no idea what Sean had done to Bernadette, and while he was mostly confident Bernadette's regenerative abilities would let her survive it, he had never liked anything less than 100% certainty. The thought of losing one of his few friends was bad enough; to think of seeing what the loss of his wife and child would do to Howard—or worse, to think of what Sean might have done to Bernadette that _wouldn't_ have killed her, and oh, how he hated the fact that being with Amy had now led his brain even to _conceive_ such things . . . . For the first time he thought he understood why so many people back home had responded so strongly to the wrathful God of the Old Testament.

 _I should have stuck with Kolinahr_ , he thought sluggishly to himself. If the only thing that hurt worse than losing loved ones was knowing what it was not to have any, being human sucked.

The gangsters had been running, as best they could while carrying Sheldon, down a concrete-walled corridor lit only by occasional naked bulbs that ran more or less straight west. At last, they fetched up against a grey metal door, the only visible access a single small black hole at waist-height on the right. The short, balding man, Rozokov, fumbled desperately in one pocket, then the other, and then pounded his fists against the door. " _Diermo!_ " he shouted, his accent now audibly thick. "I forgot to bring _key!_ "

"Is okay," said Pyotr. "Is okay! I have idea." He let Sheldon down, took a pistol out of his coat, then looked at the others. "We should back up, and plug ears. Ricochets and noise." The other men nodded. Dragging Sheldon by one arm, the gangsters backed down the corridor, ten yards, fifteen, twenty. As Sean and Rozokov hunched down, plugging their ears, Pyotr took aim, his eyes narrowing.

"You know, I hate it when I forget keys too."

Pyotr whirled, levelling the gun; his finger was tightening on the trigger when Sean grabbed the gun and shoved it upwards. " _No!_ " he hissed. "We'll need every shot we got to break that lock." He turned and pulled his razor from his pocket. "I'll take care of this asshole," he growled, and strode down the corridor towards Raj, who was sauntering towards them at a ridiculously sedate pace.

Sheldon frowned. He had never been good with expressions, but Raj was usually easier to read than most thanks to his typically animated visage. The look he was wearing now, though, was utterly alien. It seemed . . . serene. Almost bored. He held up one hand, palm out. "Something I hate even more, though? Being careless in the kitchen. I burned my hand on a panhandle once that way, really badly." He glanced at his palm, then at Sean, who had stopped and was staring at him with narrow eyes. "To this day, I still remember how it hurt," he said, almost conversationally.

For a heartbeat there was only silence. Then Sean screamed and flung the razor from him, dropping to his knees, clutching his wrist, his hand spasming and shaking. A second later Pyotr dropped his gun with a shout of pain. Rozokov shouted something in Russian; Pyotr took a deep breath and, no coward, dashed straight at Raj with his fists up. Raj pointed at him, narrowing his eyes. In mid-step, Pyotr jerked backwards and up as if electrocuted, screaming in agony, and dropped to the floor where he writhed and bucked, unable to move. Sean stared, then scrabbled backwards and away, but Raj saw the movement and shifted his focus to the other man; within a second, Sean had folded up in spasms of shrieking agony as well.

Rozokov dove, scooped up the gun, pointed it at Raj and fired. His shaking hands betrayed him; the shot whizzed past Raj's ear, struck sparks from the wall and ricocheted on down the corridor—and from farther down the passageway came a feminine yelp of fright. Raj whirled, stiffened, yelled: " _Lucy! Bernadette! No! Stay back! Stay—!_ "

His warning cut off in a grunt of pain as Rozokov's next shot slammed into his body armour, knocking him forward and down and evidently breaking his concentration; Sean and Pyotr both collapsed, falling limp with twin outrushes of breath. Sheldon tried to lift his own hand, fumbling desperately in his mind for the coordinates that normally came so easily, and still could not pull anything coherent together through the drug. Then all hint of even the attempt vanished in blank, aghast shock as the approaching silhouette came into the light.

Bernadette was a nightmare of blood, clad only in a bra and jeans, her shoes lost somewhere between their prison room and here. Sean, slowly getting to his hands and knees, froze as he saw her. She stared back at him. Then, without changing expression, she walked up to him, knelt down and put her hand on his chest. Sean's eyes bulged. He clapped one hand to his chest, over hers, and sucked in one huge, wheezing gasp, then another. Then he collapsed.

Pyotr crab-walked backwards, pushing himself into the wall, but could not find his feet before Bernadette stepped over to him and grabbed his wrist. He wrenched his arm back and was just on the edge of pulling free of her grip when his eyes suddenly glazed, and he slumped, staring. His panicked breath slowed, becoming deep and even; his face went utterly blank and empty, like a hypnosis subject plunging into trance. Bernadette looked down at him. Then she turned to face Rozokov.

Rozokov screamed and opened up with the pistol, pulling the trigger again and again. Bullets slammed into Bernadette's body, driving her backwards, red hole after red hole opening in her flesh, and at last she collapsed on her butt in the hallway next to the dazed Raj just as Rozokov's pistol ran dry and the hammer continued to fall on the empty chamber with a _click, click, click._ She shook her head, took a deep breath, and got up. As the echoes died away, Sheldon could hear a series of faint metallic _clinks_ ; a moment later he understood. The sounds were the bullets, falling to the concrete floor, as Bernadette's power pushed them out of her body and sealed up the wounds.

Sheldon wanted to shudder, or perhaps to vomit, as much out of shame as the horror of the moment. He had spent his life reading about Wolverine, Deadpool, Daken and other such quick-healing heroes with nothing but admiration and awe. Never once had it occurred to him just how horrible it must be to watch, or to imagine when it was happening to someone you . . . you knew—

( _Oh, just say the word, Sheldon_ , said a voice in his mind that sounded remarkably like Amy's.)

—someone you loved.

"Bernadette?" Raj had pushed himself into a sitting position, staring at the gangsters. Beside him, Lucy had dashed up, dropping to her knees beside him. "What . . . what did you _do?_ "

"I induced cardiac fibrillation in this one," said Bernadette, jabbing Sean with her toe. "Natural heart attack. I put the other guy's brain into a delta-wave state; he won't wake up until I let him. If I do. And him—" She looked at Rozokov, who blinked back at her, frozen. "I haven't made up my mind yet."

"Bernadette." It took everything Sheldon had to say the name. Raj, Bernadette and Lucy jumped, then gaped at Sheldon as if they'd forgotten he was there. Sheldon blinked heavily, pulled in a deep breath and pushed words out one by one, as if they were leaden ingots. "Don't . . . kill . . . them. It's. Murder."

Bernadette drew herself up, eyes wide, nostrils flaring. "Sheldon," she husked. "Do you know—what this asshole—almost _did to me?!_ " Her voice skirled up into a shriek. "What would have happened to my _baby?!_ " The cry echoed up and down the concrete passageway: _Baby . . . baby . . . baby . . . baby . . . ._

Of all the times to be too drugged to have access to his usual eloquence! Had he been in full command of his faculties Sheldon could have spun a speech so dazzlingly persuasive they could not have failed to see its good sense. "Bernadette . . . you're not . . . a killer. Don't. Be. Like. Them." But the mutinous look in her eyes hadn't died down. Sheldon pulled in one more breath and played the last card he could think of. "What . . . would . . . Howard say?"

Bernadette stared at him. Then, without warning, she slumped. "Ah, _damn_ ," she muttered, knelt, and put her hand on Sean's back. A shimmering glow gathered around her fingers. Sean jerked, spasmed, and coughed out gobs of spit, clutching his chest in relief, but before he could get up Bernadette had put her hand on his forehead. Within seconds he had subsided into the same hypnotic trance as Pyotr. Rozokov twitched as if meaning to run, but Raj snapped his fingers and pointed at him; Rozokov stiffened in terror, and that held him still long enough for Bernadette to put him into trance as well.

Raj came over to Sheldon and put a hand on his shoulder. "How you doing, buddy?"

Sheldon took a breath. "Better," he said. "Heavily . . . sedated. Obviously."

"Oh." Bernadette blinked. "Right, I forgot. Well, hold on, Sheldon." She dropped down, put one hand on Sheldon's forehead and another on his throat.

Sheldon wanted to cringe back from the sticky, flaking blood on her hands, until he felt the tingling warmth surging out from the contact and stiffened in surprise. Like a tropical tide—or at least, like what he assumed a tropical tide felt like, since he had never been swimming in an ocean in his life—the warmth swept over him, receded, and left a refreshing clarity in its wake. Sheldon shook his head, scrambled to his feet, and almost in sheer reflex drew a rectangle on the wall; he was completely unable to stop the exultant "Thank you _Jesus!_ " that burst from his mouth when the contiguity to Unit #4A, 2311 Los Robles Avenue snapped effortlessly into existence. Then he realized what he'd said, and coloured. "As my mother would say," he added sheepishly.

Raj looked at the entranced gangsters. "What about them? How long do you think they'll stay like this, Bernadette?"

Bernadette scowled. "Indefinitely, as long as I'm nearby. Once I leave, natural beta-wave consciousness will probably resume in . . . I don't know, could be minutes, could be hours." She shrugged. "I don't really feel like hanging around to find out."

Sheldon nodded. "Yes, biology is a notably imprecise science. Neurobiology most of all." Not that Amy would like hearing that . . . oh. Right. He'd said he'd think about these things, hadn't he. "But, uh, please don't tell Amy that." He considered the gangsters, ignoring the surprised looks the others were trading, then snapped his fingers. "Ah—I've got it." He snapped his fingers again, folded his arms and nodded in triumph. "There."

Lucy frowned. "There . . . what?"

Sheldon was about to berate her in disgust when it occurred to him that, in fact, they couldn't actually be blamed for not seeing it. He sighed. "Look more closely."

Raj, Lucy and Bernadette peered at the three men. After a moment, Lucy audibly gulped. "Um—maybe this is me, but—are they breathing?"

"Oh, they're breathing." Sheldon remembered the contiguity, closed it with a wave and gestured grandly at the gangsters. "They're simply doing so at an immensely slow pace. I put the end of the corridor into a fractional-tau continuum pocket; time in there is moving as close to zero as is possible in this universe. And the pocket's structured to collapse after exactly seventy-two hours' worth of entropy acting on the outer brane. We can send the police here to get them in three days, and as far as they're concerned they won't have noticed a thing."

Raj nodded slowly, smiling. "Brilliant, Sheldon. Brilliant."

Sheldon shrugged. "Well, of course." He saw the looks the others exchanged, considered the situation, and remembered Amy's words once more. "Oh, before I forget," he said—and let nobody ever accuse him of tactlessness again; it was acute self-humiliation to suggest he even _could_ forget—"thank you for coming to get us, Raj. Lucy."

Bernadette nodded. "Yeah. Yes, thank you, both. So much." She looked at the time-frozen gangsters again and shuddered. "God. You never think people like this could really exist, do you?"

"I don't know," said Lucy. "I mean, in terms of who's scarier . . . well, look at what _we_ can do. Who would ever have imagined _us?_ "

The silence in the wake of that remark stretched out for far longer than Sheldon would have expected.


	15. Chapter 15

THE METAHUMAN TRANSFIGURATION

 **Description:** The gang gets superpowers. It's not as cool as some of them always thought. Alternate Season 9 premiere.

 **Notes:** Well, the plan to update more frequently certainly went all to hell! Apologies to everyone; I can plead only the chronic lack of time that comes from being a breadwinner dad, and reassure everyone that I *am* closing in on an end to this first story in this AU. (Yes, I am planning others.) Navigating the streets of Las Vegas in a running battle was immensely aided by Google Streetview. For those interested in my head-casting, I have been envisioning Tom Hiddleston as Hal, and for those who like translation, Howard's line " _Got zol in dir fargesn_ " means "May God forget about you", according to Michael Wex's wonderfully funny and interesting book _Born to Kvetch: Yiddish Language and Culture in All of Its Moods._

 **Disclaimer:** The author does not own THE BIG BANG THEORY or any of the characters.

\- 15 -

3050 LAS VEGAS BOULEVARD, LAS VEGAS, NEVADA

FRIDAY, AUGUST 28, 2015, 10:12 P.M.

None of the paramedics who'd been called in to duty at the Camelot's address were novices, and all of them had seen the injuries of most major cities before: car accidents, stabbings, gunshot wounds, construction site negligence, household poisonings, domestic violence, gang fights, everything that the modern world was capable of doing to human beings. But the wounds inflicted on the police officers who'd gone into that exhibit hall were not from anything the modern world had ever seen. They had the shape and pattern of individual blows, but the scope and depth of industrial machinery; the jagged sharpness of rockfalls in an avalanche, but the force and speed of highway vehicle impacts. As the paramedics bustled about their work, Glenn Foxworth had seen their eyes take on more and more of the haunted cast he had only read about in case studies: the bewildered, frightened look of people caught up in a war zone, cleaning up the detritus left behind by passing forces they had neither expected nor understood.

As the only "man in charge" with anything like medical knowledge, Glenn had been put on the spot with questions for which he had nothing even close to an answer. He had no idea what had happened to this man—according to Abrams, Penny Carmichaels had called him "Sammy"—that had transformed him into the creature he'd seen briefly on recordings from the officers' body-cams; he could not say with certainty whether the wounds carried any unique contagious factor. He did not know what, if anything, would suffice to injure the man, much less stop him. All he could say was that it was clearly another effect of the Power Pulse, and that was something any half-awake Internet blogger could have said. And now that Anderson was being brought out on a gurney himself, and Penny and Bernadette's husband had gone off chasing Sammy up the Strip, Glenn knew it was only a matter of time before some determined media scrounger made his or her way past the police line and buttonholed him on camera for the world to see.

It was as much to put off that inevitability as any other genuine curiosity that led him running after Sergeant Abrams, when the other man stiffened in response to whatever he was hearing over his radio, barked an affirmation and an order, and ran off from the ambulance where he'd been watching over another injured man. They sprinted around the hotel's front driveway and lawn, into the parking lot on the north side, and up to the ring of police officers who were surrounding, with weapons out and levelled, two extremely unprepossessing and annoyed-looking people holding their hands in the air. Glenn recognized them, sighed in relief and clapped Abrams on the shoulder. "It's all right," he told the other man. "I know these people. They're not a threat."

Abrams scowled at him, but snapped another order, and the police lowered their weapons just slowly enough to broadcast their readiness to draw them again. Glenn slipped between two of the cops and hurried to the people at the centre of the ring. "Dr. Leonard Hofstadter, I presume?" he said. "And Dr. Amy Farrah Fowler. I'm glad to see you again." He extended his hand, fully aware of the apparent absurdity but banking on social reflex to start calming things down.

"Again?" Hofstadter frowned at him, but shook his hand regardless. "Have we met?"

"Not . . . directly." Glenn shrugged, a little abashed. "My name is Foxworth, Dr. Glenn Foxworth, of the University of Chicago—we met at the Institute of Interdisciplinary Sciences' annual symposium, five years ago. I, ah, I gave your fiancée Penny a lift back to Pasadena."

"That was _you?_ " Leonard blinked. "Oh my God, you're _that_ Glenn. Bernadette's ex." He hesitated, then added, "You have no idea how much Howard hates you. Honestly, for a while I wasn't a fan either."

Glenn snorted. "Oh, Mr. Wolowitz doesn't hate _me_ ; I'm just a handy representative for his own chronic sense of sexual inadequacy. If inventing superweapons that can blow monsters through concrete walls won't cure that, nothing will."

Fowler had been studying him with a squint that might have been suspicion or simply myopia, but at Glenn's last words she abruptly grinned. The expression gave her plain features a startlingly appealing cast. "I like this man, Leonard," she said. "We should have him around more often."

"You know that'll just piss Howard off, right?"

"Like I was saying, we should have him around more often."

"Yeah, just remember that when Sheldon refuses to sing Neil Diamond with you at karaoke." As Fowler processed that with a disgruntled look, Leonard turned back to Glenn. "How is Agent Anderson? We saw he'd been injured."

"Agent Anderson is being treated." Glenn turned; Abrams came up to them, his sidearm still holstered but his hand resting pointedly on the holster. "They may or may not be able to stabilize him. Why do you ask?"

"Because when we last spoke to him, he'd arranged a temporary truce," said Leonard, looking askance at the burly SWAT officer as if he already sensed the skepticism this was likely to meet. "We'd help you guys stop Sammy, and you'd call off the arrest warrants, at least for the moment."

"And why exactly would Agent Anderson make such an arrangement?"

"Because Dr. Hofstadter, Ms. Carmichaels and their friends are the only people likely to be able to stop an out-of-control metahuman without further loss of life, obviously," said Glenn, before either Leonard or Fowler could say anything. "Or do you want to send more of your men into that meat-grinder, Max?"

Abrams glowered at him. Leonard cleared his throat. "Well, yes, that was exactly Agent Anderson's thinking, I believe," he said.

"Oh yeah? How's that working out so far?" Abrams growled. "So far all I'm seein' is a lot of property damage and injuries, and our target is still moving. If your friends can't shut this man down soon I'm thinking it might be time to break out the really heavy weaponry."

Leonard looked taken aback, and more than a little worried. "How heavy are we talking, here, sir—?" he began, then broke off as Fowler suddenly stiffened and held up one hand. She put the other hand to her ear; looking closer, Glenn realized she was wearing a radio earpiece, much like Abrams's own. As if the realization had slapped him awake, he sized up Hofstadter again, and saw what he had completely missed before: the smaller man sported visible bandages, his shirt was torn and bloodied, and what remained of his tuxedo was rumpled and soiled far beyond what most honeymoon nights might ever explain. This hadn't just been an interrupted wedding, Glenn realized. Something had gone seriously wrong.

Fowler slumped in relief and smiled. If the grin of a moment ago had made her appealing, that relieved, overjoyed smile made her beautiful. "Oh, thank God," she exhaled. "Leonard, that was Raj. They found Sheldon and Bernadette, they're all right. They're just in the bar, back inside the hotel—Sheldon teleported them all back, apparently they were in some kind of underground access corridor."

"The bar?" Leonard frowned. "Why couldn't Sheldon have brought everybody out here?"

Fowler shrugged. "He's never been in this parking lot. The bar was probably the last point on-site for which he bothered to memorize the coordinates. Even Sheldon's eidetic memory only works for things he pays attention to."

 _Teleported._ Glenn had never doubted Page's deduction that one of the four male Primaries had developed some kind of transportation power—it was the only way to explain how they had disappeared from that boardroom yesterday, and vanished out from under that Texas riot squad's noses milliseconds before the stun grenades went off—but it was still eerie to hear the word used so casually . . . even if this confirmed both who had acquired it and a vital limitation on its use. Glenn tucked those details carefully away in his own memory as Fowler lifted her wrist to her mouth and spoke into the mike peeping out from under her cuff. "Raj, we're in the parking lot on the building's north side. Get out here as soon as you can—"

"Dr. Fowler." If Abrams' voice was just slightly less gruff speaking to a woman, it was still forceful enough to visibly discomfit Fowler when aimed directly at her. Glenn wondered if Abrams even noticed. "If you're in communication with Dr. Cooper and Dr. Koothrappali, tell them to wait in the hotel's main lobby, and that I'm sending officers to meet them and bring them out here—and advise your friends, I can't stress this enough, to be _cooperative_. Understood? I'm sending my men either way," he added before she could protest. "So you may as well give them a heads-up."

For a moment, Amy looked mulish, but Leonard touched her elbow and gave her a meaningful nod. She sighed and complied, muttering instructions into her wrist-mike. Abrams pointed to four of the officers surrounding them and gave them rapid orders, and they jogged off towards the hotel's main entrance. Leonard looked at Abrams with an expression somewhere between wariness and disappointment. "Does this mean we're back under arrest?"

"It means I want you all where I can see you," said Abrams. "Especially if I'm gonna deploy you as assets to take down this Sammy person. Maybe if you all join in at once you'll get better results. After all, that's how they do it in the comics, right? The big team-up?" At Leonard's astonished look, he suddenly grinned. "I've seen a superhero flick or two in my time, Doc. Cops enjoy a righteous asskicking as much as anyone."

Leonard narrowed his eyes at him, as if he couldn't quite believe he was having this conversation. "Yeah, well, comics and movies are one thing; real life is another," he said. "We've found that out several hard ways already. Can we get helmets?"

Abrams looked impressed. "That's the most sensible question you've asked so far, Dr. Hofstadter. Maybe you are as smart as your file says you are."

"I have a file now? Oh, God, of course I have a file," Leonard muttered, rubbing his forehead.

Amy tilted her head. "Do I have a file?" Abrams nodded, and her own grin returned. "Wow. Leonard, I have a file! I'm a person of interest!"

"Well, you knew that from yesterday," Leonard pointed out. He looked at Glenn as Abrams activated his own radio and gave more orders. "Speaking of which, were you the person who kept Bernadette's name out of the news stories yesterday about Huntington Memorial?"

"I didn't make that decision," Glenn hedged, "but I requested it, yes."

"Good," said Leonard. "If you can, at all, please keep that up. I'd really appreciate it if at least one of us has the option not to go public with what's happened to her, at least as long as possible." He gave Glenn a disquietingly piercing look. "This is for Bernadette's sake, not Howard's or anybody else's. If that makes a difference."

Glenn weighed whether to be insulted or not, and finally decided against it. He understood Hofstadter's point. "It would, if I were the sort of person for whom that mattered. But just to let you know, Dr. Hofstadter: I'm not." He didn't take his eyes from Leonard's. Slowly, the other man nodded.

Amy stiffened abruptly, squinting fiercely over Glenn's shoulder, then gave a frustrated growl. "Leonard, I'm sorry, but I can't see well enough to be certain. Is that—?" She pointed instead of finishing the sentence, and Leonard nodded. Amy started for the edge of the circle, stopped as the officers surrounding them instinctively shifted closer together, and gave Abrams a pleading look. "Sergeant, please? I just—I need to see him. Dr. Cooper, I mean. We, uh, he's extremely important to me on an emotional level, if that factor influences your decision at all—not to suggest that that consideration should be a priority in this situation, of course, but it will certainly provide reassurance to confirm Dr. Cooper's welfare and that can only help if we have to engage in situations of danger which I'm sure you already know all about but I just—"

"Dr. _Fowler_ ," Abrams growled. He gestured forcefully at the officers blocking Amy's path; after a moment, they stepped aside. Abrams glared at her. "Go."

Amy didn't wait for further permission. She took off at a run, bolting towards the entrance to the parking lot, where Glenn could see Abrams' men returning with a ragged group of four people in tow; one of them was visibly taller than the rest. When she reached them, they were still too far away to make out much detail, but there was enough light from the streetlamps and the flickering emergency red-and-blues that Glenn could clearly see the tall figure toppling over as Amy flung herself onto him. He cleared his throat quietly, not sure if he was repressing an urge to laugh or a lump.

Leonard glanced at Abrams. "Sorry about that, sir. It's just—they have a history."

"History?" Abrams snorted. "Looks like a frickin' _epic_ to me."

Leonard opened his mouth, then shrugged and nodded in visibly bemused agreement.

LAS VEGAS BOULEVARD SOUTH AND SANDS AVENUE, 10:17 P.M.

" _Howard, look out!_ " Penny's yell was panicked enough that Howard didn't try to whirl and see the danger himself; with a reflexive jerk of his thumb, he simply cut the power to his skates altogether and dropped like a stone. Wind ruffled his hair as something huge and metallic shot over his head, missing him by what felt like millimetres. He switched the skates back on and cranked the power, a trick he was getting much better at doing one-handed, and braked to a stop. The missile— _holy crap, that's a frickin'_ car!—tumbled down past him, almost squarely into the middle of the intersection, and struck asphalt with a cacophonous crash, crumpling into a half-flattened shape of metal. Broken glass burst in all directions. Car horns howled, brakes screeched as other vehicles slewed wildly sideways, and pedestrians screamed, fleeing.

Howard stared at the fallen car, then pulled a one-eighty to glare at Sammy, who crouched in the middle of the Boulevard a few dozen yards away. Beyond him, high in the air, hovered Penny, likewise dumbstruck; the Treasure Island Hotel's sign backlit her in blazing white light. Further above, the hammering rotors of several helicopters formed a rumbling backdrop to the noise. "You son of a bitch!" Howard shouted. "Did you just throw a _Prius_ at me?! I _like_ Priuses!" He blinked, suddenly bemused. "Wait, is that the right plural? Prii? Priusesses? Pri—ah, the hell with it!" His left arm was burning from the effort of holding the heavy cart battery, but he barely noticed; he levelled his force tube with the other hand and fired.

He wasn't expecting much result—even his heaviest blasts only seemed to knock Sammy tumbling—but he was pissed off enough not to care. The result startled the hell out of him nonetheless. Sammy hunched down and then _jumped_ , rocketing clear over the force burst and ascending nearly twenty feet into the air before coming down hard enough to crater the asphalt with a thunderous _BAM_ ; behind him, the force burst knocked an abandoned SUV over on its side. Sammy wobbled a little before finding his feet, staring down at himself with an equally surprised expression.

Then he looked up at Howard. And smiled.

Howard gulped. "Oh, shit." He whirled, flicking his skates' power to maximum. Screams pealed behind him as he leapt into the air and shot east down Sands. With a flick of his thumb, he pumped a burst of power through his skates, lofting himself neatly over the pedestrians' bridge between the Palazzo and the Wynn. Shadow flickered over him against the flashing pools of the streetlights, growing, darkening . . . . At the last second Howard jinked sharply right and then straightened out again, dizzy with shifting momentum. Sammy hurtled past, one enormous fist just barely missing him, and slammed back down into the street with a bellow of fury. Howard didn't look back to see. Car horns, shouts and the flashes of phone cameras splashed up behind him like the wake of a waterskier, followed by another burst of sudden shrieks and another deafening _BAM_. Howard's lungs burned. His heart pounded in his ears.

Out of nowhere a weird feeling of _déjà vu_ struck him. It took a moment to realize why; when he did, he almost laughed aloud, breathlessness notwithstanding. Running like a rabbit from an enraged maniac far his superior in strength, nerves afire with both terror and glee, while all around people pointed and gasped in amazement at the show . . . it was fourth grade all over again. This was just another suburban Pasadena schoolyard, and that was just one more bully back there. It was like nothing had changed at all.

 _Except this guy's not Jake Truscott,_ some unamused part of his brain reminded him. _And if he catches you you're gonna lose a lot more than a baby tooth._ The urge to laugh died.

Sands Avenue curved right, bearing south, then back left and east. He was shooting past the Sands Expo and Convention Center now, slicing through the air a few yards above the traffic, and at Koval Lane he pulled a sharp right and found himself racing the sleek white bullet-shape of a monorail train as it whirred southward along its elevated track. In the train's brightly lit windows, Howard could see people suddenly turning, gaping, and pointing; inevitably, phones came up and flashed at him. Dazed, he found himself waving feebly back.

Then came another shattering _BAM_. The train visibly jolted on its track; in the windows, passengers reeled and fell, mouths wide with silent screams. Howard looked back over his shoulder, appalled. Sammy's last leap had carried him right into the monorail's track, from which he'd ricocheted back down into the street; the smash of impact had left the structure cracked, broken and warped. The train racing them was well past the impact point, but the next one coming down the line would almost surely derail thirty feet straight down into the street. Howard could only pray the train's operators could get the dispatcher to shut the route down in time.

He tilted forward and dropped closer to the street, staying just above the traffic, ignoring the screeches of brakes and honks of horns as he shot by. With the reflex of a lifetime spent tinkering with motors and rocket trajectories, he'd timed out the rhythm of Sammy's jumps; to cover the twenty-five to thirty yards he guessed Sammy was covering with each leap, his elevation was probably no more than ten or twelve feet. That would let Howard keep him below the level of the monorail and away from further damage to it—it didn't do much for his escape prospects, but there was more at stake here than his own butt. He slung his force-tube at his belt and lifted his wrist-mike to his mouth.

"Penny!" he shouted, though he was sufficiently winded it was more gasp than yell by now. "I'm heading south on Koval, coming up on Krueger, and this guy's trying to jump straight down my ass! Where the hell are you?"

" _I'm overhead!_ " Penny's voice crackled back in his ear. " _I was looking for a chance to come in from the side, knock him sideways, but I don't want to throw him into one of the buildings—Howard,_ right!"

Howard threw himself sideways, almost lost his balance, dropped flailing downwards and got his skates under himself just before hitting the street, skidding through the turn onto Krueger Drive as Sammy shot straight through the space he'd occupied and slammed explosively into the asphalt just below the monorail track. He went down face first this time, and didn't immediately get up—he must have put extra effort into the last jump, trying to catch Howard off guard. Dizzy and disoriented, Howard reeled over to the right side of the road, dropped his battery and collapsed against a palm tree, hugging it to hold himself up. He could actually _feel_ the cold sweat breaking on his forehead. If Penny hadn't warned him at the last second . . . .

"Are you fricking _kidding_ me?!" he yelled into his mike, when he got his breath back. "You're worried about the _buildings?_ " He alternated frantically between watching Sammy's fallen form and peering upwards into the night, trying to find Penny. On the other side of the road, a Ferris wheel turned in a parking lot, lit up in blue and yellow lights, its absurdly cheerful tinny music echoing out over the traffic.

" _And everybody inside them and on the streets, if he does enough damage to knock them down!_ "

Howard rolled his eyes. "Okay, fine," he grumbled, "if you're going to make actual _sense_ . . . ."

" _Yeah, well, blame Leonard; he was the one who dragged me to see_ Man of Steel." Sudden alarm filled Penny's voice. " _Howard, look out—he's getting up!_ "

Howard's eyes snapped to Sammy. The other man was pushing himself slowly to his feet, groaning gutturally as he did. His shape was a distended mass of bulging curves, spikes, plates and joints, inhumanly tall and wide; Howard could barely even understand how his pursuer could still move. He wasn't sure if he wanted to cry or scream. " _Got zol in dir fargesn_ ," he moaned, "what the hell does it take to _stop_ this guy?"

" _Actually, Howard, we may have a suggestion to exactly that effect_ ," said Amy's voice in his earpiece, startling Howard so badly he dropped his battery in the middle of picking it up and only barely managed not to let it fall on his toes. His reaction was so visible that Sammy actually recoiled, pausing in the middle of hunching for a leap. " _Can I ask where you and Penny are currently located?_ "

"Krueger Drive, just east of Koval, maybe half a mile back to the Strip, and who the hell is 'we', Amy?" Howard yelled. With his left hand he grabbed for his force-tube projector and levelled it at Sammy, who scowled at him with a look almost like Sheldon's in his more exasperated moments.

The voice that answered was one he hadn't expected. " _Howard? Baby? Are you okay?_ "

Howard's jaw dropped. " _Bernie?_ " he choked. "Omigod, Bernie, what _happened_ to you? What—oh, _shit!_ " With no warning at all Sammy leapt into the air, arcing high and coming whistling down at Howard; Howard flung up his force-tube and fired—

—and nothing happened.

His brain took up one quarter of an instant realizing what had gone wrong: he'd dropped the battery, and his jury-rigged connection had torn out. His skates were dead, his weapon was dead. Another quarter-instant to visualize exactly what would happen to his five-foot-four, hundred-and-twenty pound body when that descending mass of abomination hit him: it would crush his ribs, break his back, squelch his internal organs like bags of jelly, flatten him like a cartoon character which could never be reinflated. A third quarter-instant to grasp just what that meant. He would never hold Bernadette again, kiss her, make love to her. He would never hold his son or daughter in his arms. He'd never enter a lab again, build another device, or join the guys to make fun of Sheldon over _Mystic Warlords of Ka'a_. This was it.

The end.

And in the fourth quarter-instant he had just begun to close his eyes so he didn't have to see death coming, when Penny skyrocketed out of the night like a jeans-clad golden comet, hit Sammy in the side in mid-descent and sent the two of them tumbling and bouncing westwards down Krueger Drive like the trap-chute boulder in _Raiders of the Lost Ark_ , cars screeching out of their way. Howard's legs collapsed; he dropped onto his ass with a painful thud, making a sound halfway between howl of triumph and a choked squeak of miserable relief. His pulse roared in his ears.

The noise of his heartbeat was so loud it drowned everything else out; it took a moment for the voice in Howard's earpiece to penetrate, and when it finally did it managed the feat only by virtue of how much it resembled what had been the most important voice in his life. " _HOWARD!_ " it screeched. " _HOWARD, YOU PUTZ, ANSWER ME!_ HOWWW-AAARRDD!"

Howard fumbled his wrist-mike on. "Okay, okay, okay, _stop yelling!_ " he yelled back. "I can _hear_ you, Ma-mah, my, my beloved! I'm okay! I'm fine!" He cringed and hit himself on the forehead. God, of all the times to make that mistake! Maybe she'd missed it in the radio's static . . . .

The moment of silence that followed warned him otherwise, before the earpiece crackled with Bernadette's huffed exhalation. " _If I wasn't so relieved you weren't dead, I'd have a few more words to say to you, buddy,_ " she growled. " _And one of 'em would probably be 'psychotherapy'. What happened?_ "

"Uh, well, summing up briefly, Penny saved my ass. Set aside some money for a thank-you gift." Howard twisted to peer down Krueger Drive; already the combatants were too far away to make out, beyond blurred black dots backlit by the Strip's illumination, jumping and swooping about one another. "I think she and Sammy are heading back towards the main Strip. Where're you guys?"

" _We're wedged into a SWAT van heading north, trying to intercept this Sammy person,_ " came Sheldon's acid, precise tenor. " _Honestly, Howard, if this is the sort of lumbar support passengers get in these vehicles I'm going to be a lot more understanding of police brutality reports in future. Not that that exonerates anybody, but still._ "

Howard covered his eyes with one hand. "Sheldon, please tell me there weren't any cops within earshot of you when you said that."

" _Why would that matter? I'm not insulting anyone, Howard, I'm just saying that now I understand where the violence comes from._ "

Howard sighed. "Yeah, that's . . . probably not gonna make anything worse, I guess." With his free hand, he pulled the battery towards him and examined where the wires leading to his converter unit had torn away. "It's going to take a few minutes for me to get up and moving again; I'm not hurt, I just have to make a quick repair or two . . . ." Then he remembered something. "Wait a minute—Amy, you said you had an idea how to stop this guy. What is it?"

" _Um—I'd prefer to skim discreetly over that for now, Howard, as I suspect you're not going to like it very much._ "

Howard stopped moving. "Why . . . won't I like it?" he asked, his voice sounding unnaturally flat even to him.

" _Oh, that's because it involves Bernadette_ —" began Sheldon blithely, before a sharp crackle howled in Howard's ear; he winced away. A second later, Sheldon's voice had been replaced by Leonard's, in an annoyed tone so familiar it was actually comforting: " _Just get back to the Strip as fast as you can, Howard. I don't think you'll have trouble finding us._ "

"Ten-four," muttered Howard, and grabbed the trailing wires from his converter unit, dread gnawing at his gut. From down the street, screeches of brakes and howls of car horns split the night, backed by the roar of rotors as helicopters shot by overhead, their spotlights raking along the street. None of them bothered to pick him out as he sat at the base of the palm tree.

U.S. BANK TOWER, 633 WEST FIFTH STREET, LOS ANGELES, CA

OBSERVATION DECK, 70TH FLOOR, 10:21 P.M.

As the elevator ascended, Kurt shifted uncomfortably, wishing he could take off his midnight-blue tie. It was more out of habit than actual discomfort—the shirt he wore fit him as if tailored for him, and it might well have been; the dark-grey silk suit he wore over that was the single most expensive set of clothing he'd ever owned. Beside him, Emily wore a dark red sequined dress that fit her with similar perfection, and whoever had helped her get all spiffed up for this meeting, they'd done her hair and makeup as well, giving her a curled mane that spilled over her head and down to one shoulder. Kurt had to admit, he'd always thought she was hot, but now she was one of the hottest women he'd ever been this close to. Maybe even, he said silently to himself, hotter than Penny . . . although he was smart enough to know that was not the sort of thing you said to women, generally.

At the moment, though, appreciating that hotness was unfortunately a little more academic a matter than he might have liked. The people standing around them in the elevator looked like nothing special, in themselves: three men, two women, of varied ethnicity, and none of them more than average in appearance, though they were all dressed as well as Kurt and Emily. But there was something in their flat, shining eyes that creeped Kurt the fuck out, even as their own wariness towards him indicated how well aware they were of his own strength. They'd been among the people who welcomed him and Emily last night in the parking garage of this building, and shown them to palatially-appointed residence suites like something Kurt had only ever seen on MTV reruns of _Cribs_ —the steak dinner waiting for him had been the best he'd ever eaten in his life. He'd therefore chosen to ignore, for the time being, the fact that when they'd gotten off on that floor, the elevator display hadn't shown any number . . . as if the floor didn't exist.

For whatever reason, that odd glitch, if glitch it was, didn't happen this time. The display clicked to 69 and stopped. Kurt glanced at the number and couldn't help himself; he snickered. As if she had read his mind—and who knew, maybe she had—Emily elbowed him sharply. The doors whirred open.

The space revealed was clearly only half-finished, but even so, it impressed Kurt despite himself. They walked out into an open area that took up the entire two floors of the building, maybe fifty feet across, twenty high, ringed at the midpoint by a walkway that would allow people to lean against the outer windows at the height of the seventieth floor, looking out over the Los Angeles cityscape. The stairs leading up to the walkway were bare concrete, as was the floor, and construction scaffolding and material were everywhere. From the girdered, cable-strung ceiling hung a massive display screen, tuned to one of the twenty-four hour cable news channels; the scene on display was a city street, its traffic in silent chaos. Hypertext ran across the bottom of the screen, but Kurt couldn't read it at this distance. A second later the picture cut to a blonde news anchor; her mouth moved, but no sound came out.

Beside the couch stood a man in a grey suit much like Kurt's own, looking up at the screen. As Kurt, Emily and the others approached, he glanced back and saw them. "Ah," he said. He reached down, touching the shoulder of the man sitting on the couch, then turned. "Mr. Winters," he said. "Dr. Sweeney." It was the mellifluous voice Kurt had heard on the burner phone last night. "I'm glad to see you properly attired. Welcome to our association. My name is Randall."

"Yeah, hi Randy," said Kurt. "Look, before you go any further, I'm grateful you gave us someplace to go, and provided all these awesome duds and all, but I gotta tell you: way I grew up, nobody ever got nothing for nothing, and, well, I'm not really the joining type. So if you're gonna hit us with whatever our bill for this is, I'd kinda like just to get to it, settle up and call it even, if we can." He paused a moment, then deliberately stepped forwards into Randall's space, looming over the smaller man; Randall didn't back away, but his wariness was clear. "And just for the record?" He glanced down at the man sitting on the couch. "If your boss wants to talk to us, _he_ can fuckin' talk to us. I don't like getting jerked around by flunkies. No offense," he added, with a deliberately offensive stare. In his experience, when you suspected there were strings attached, it was best to try to yank hard on them, right away.

Nobody made any audible noise or gasp, but he could feel the tension crackle through the air. Emily gave him a sidelong glare. Randall only blinked once. Then he stepped back, and the man on the couch stood in what looked almost like the same movement. Unlike everybody else in the room, he wore casual clothing, jeans, sneakers and a black leather jacket; he was almost as tall as Kurt himself, maybe six-two or six-three, with broad shoulders, big hands, a long nose, and short dark hair, and looked to be in his middle to late thirties. His smile instantly made Kurt wary, in the way guys who'd been able to give him a good fight had always made Kurt wary. That in itself felt odd—wasn't he strong enough now to throw cars, after all? But Kurt was used to trusting his instincts.

"I like a man who's got no patience for bullshit," said the man in the black jacket. His voice was a medium baritone, slightly hoarse, as if he'd spent a lot of time shouting; it had the faintest trace of an accent in it, some weird kinda British sound that wasn't quite Irish or Scottish. "Never had much myself. Pleased to meet you, Kurt, Emily. Call me Hal." He shook Kurt's hand—his grip felt like it might easily be Kurt's match—and kissed Emily's, his eyes twinkling. "And I hear you on the joining thing. But . . . I really think you're gonna have an interest in what we've got to offer you."

Emily exchanged a glance with Kurt. "Such as?" she said.

"Well, money, for one," said Hal, spreading his hands. "Buckets of it, and you'll never have to waste time on taxes again. More important, security. A network of safe havens. Support personnel, everywhere, utterly reliable. And most of all, a guaranteed supply of, ah, what you _really_ need." He gave Emily a meaningful look. "Like Randall told you last night, Emily. We've been doing this a while."

Emily licked her lips. Kurt wondered if she realized she'd done it. It turned him on and creeped him out at the same time. Still, from the question that followed, the brain behind those big brown eyes still seemed to be working: "And what's _our_ end of the bargain, Hal?"

Hal shrugged. "Simple: same as the rest of us. Help out. Whatever needs doing. Using your—talents—however seems best." He grinned abruptly. "I'm guessing you've already picked up a whole new knack of making people see things your way, right, Emily?" He turned and pointed up at the screen. "There's a situation here we've been monitoring, I've been making up my mind what to do about it; let's kill two birds with one stone, and I'll show you just how useful that kind of influence is." Hal rubbed his hands, looking gleeful, picked up a remote from the table, then paused a moment to turn it over in his hands with an admiring expression. "I _love_ this century, Randall, have I mentioned that tonight?"

"Not yet, sir," said Randall, deadpan.

Hal laughed, pointed the remote at the TV screen and pressed a button. The sound came on. " _—still no identification on the demonic creature doing the majority of the damage,_ " said the blonde anchor in grave tones. " _But the woman fighting the creature has been tentatively identified as the same person who saved a crashing FBI helicopter last night in Pasadena, California, the metahuman already popularly named, by the Internet, the Angel_." Over her shoulder, the action zoomed in until it resolved, showing the spiked, ogrish monstrosity leaping back and forth while a slender blonde figure swooped out of its way, dealing spinning kicks and punches and neatly dodging return blows and hurled cars.

Kurt stiffened. At his side, he felt Emily do the same. Hal turned abruptly, his eyebrows up. "You know her," he said. "The Angel. Don't you." There was no question in his tone, and no amusement.

"Yeah," said Kurt. "Yeah, I know her." He looked at Emily. "You?"

"She's a friend of my boyfr—" Emily stopped, closed her eyes, and let out a breath. "Of my ex," she amended. "But . . . never really mine, for what that's worth."

Hal nodded thoughtfully. "Well. For what it's worth, she might survive this. I almost hope she does—it would be nice to be surprised for a change." He pulled a cellphone out of his pocket, dialed, and put it to his ear. "Hello? Hello, Jenny. Yes, it's me. Yes." His voice suddenly took on the rich, echoing resonance Kurt remembered from the Huntington Memorial ambulance.

" **I want you to put me through to Sergeant Max Abrams, Jenny. Now**."


	16. Chapter 16

THE METAHUMAN TRANSFIGURATION

 **Description:** The gang gets superpowers. It's not as cool as some of them always thought. Alternate Season 9 premiere.

 **Notes:** Still not up to my goal for updates, but at least it was _slightly_ less than a month this time. I am happy to report that I now have a fairly clear plan in mind for how this story's going to end, and I am pretty sure it will be within two or three more chapters. I'd like to pause and thank everybody who's enjoyed and reviewed this so far, and to let you know that I do have plans for further stories in this AU, so if a loose plot thread appears to be dangling, rest assured I will come back to it. As a reminder for those who like head-casting, I see Michael Cudlitz as Sergeant Abrams and Kevin J. O'Connor as Sammy.

 **Disclaimer:** The author does not own THE BIG BANG THEORY or any of the characters.

\- 16 -

LAS VEGAS BOULEVARD SOUTH, LAS VEGAS, NEVADA

FRIDAY, AUGUST 28, 2015, 10:22 P.M.

The SWAT vans pushed north on the Strip as fast as they could, which wasn't very; the wake of Sammy's passage was a chaotic array of cars either shoved aside by Sammy himself or jammed into one another by their drivers' frantic attempts to turn and escape, punctuated with the occasional out-and-out wreck from the running battle. On the street, uniformed police officers and firefighters were doing their best to clear a path and keep everyone back, but everything had happened so quickly they hadn't had much time to make progress. The vans jolted back and forth, pulling sharp turns to get around the abandoned vehicles, sirens and lights blatting out imperative noises as they did.

Crammed into the hindmost van's dark, sweat-smelling, cramped rear compartment, an ill-fitting police helmet bouncing up and down on his head, Leonard's only consolation was that Sheldon looked even more put off by the conditions than he was, despite—or perhaps because of—Amy clinging to his side like a limpet. Across from them, Raj had similarly put one arm each around Bernadette and Lucy. All of them, even Amy, now wore helmets and vests; Bernadette was further huddled up inside a police jacket, her hastily-cleaned face still showing specks of blood. Leonard hadn't had a chance yet to ask what had happened to her, or to her blouse, but he wasn't altogether certain that he particularly wanted to know. The look in her eyes was more wounded than anything he could see on her skin.

He cleared his throat and leaned forward. "Listen, Bernadette," he said, "if you're not up for this, say so. Regeneration or not, this could be dangerous. We can think of something else if we have to."

Bernadette raised her eyebrows at him. "Leonard, this was your idea. And if you've got another one, now'd be the time to say it, 'cause I don't."

"I have to agree, Leonard," said Sheldon. "I somehow don't think this Sammy person will be nearly as respectful of Stuart's comic book store, and a time-pocket's only a temporary solution. Besides, given how few good ideas you tend to get, are you really sure you want to waste this one?"

Leonard stared at him, then looked at Raj and jabbed a thumb in Sheldon's direction. "Why did we want to rescue him again?"

Raj looked thoughtful. "Well . . . if you ever want to go trespassing on Skywalker Ranch again, it'll be a lot easier to get in and out if Sheldon can teleport you." He scowled meaningfully. "But remember to bring me and Howard along next time, all right?"

Sheldon's eyes narrowed. "Raj, are you just asking in the hope of seeing me get Tased again?"

"No!" said Raj indignantly, sitting up. Then he looked sheepish. "Well, I wasn't, at least. But now that I think about it, that does sound like a delightful bonus." He smiled brightly.

"Rajesh!" said Amy, sounding offended.

"No, no, Amy, it's all right," said Sheldon. Despite his tightly controlled expression—the one he typically used to mask discomfort, though generally unsuccessfully—Leonard couldn't help but notice that Sheldon hadn't asked Amy to move or let him go. "This is just the usual joshing banter exchanged by men of iron thews and heroic resolve, before going into battle. It's perfectly normal. I take no offense. I myself will point and laugh loudly when you are squashed like a bug, Raj."

Raj frowned. "Er . . . thanks?"

"'Iron thews'?" repeated Bernadette in disbelief. "At our last dinner party Howard had to help you jury-rig a lever to get the corkscrew out of the wine bottle."

"Well, now, be fair, Bernadette," said Sheldon, holding up his forefinger defensively. "That was only necessary because Penny couldn't make it that night."

Bernadette blinked. "Oh, right, she was away that evening, wasn't she." She looked at Leonard. "Just out of curiosity, Leonard, _have_ you ever talked to Penny about her drinking?"

Leonard cleared his throat. "Well, that's a delicate subject. I thought I might wait until we talked about something less touchy first, like, I don't know, her temper, her dangerously haphazard driving skills, her refusal to admit she can't sing and the fact none of us has any idea what our living arrangements are going to be once we're married . . . you know: safe topics." He shrugged. "For all I know, maybe her liver's super-strong now too. We really need to get some lab tests done as soon as possible—"

Brakes screeched and the SWAT van jolted to a stop, throwing them all towards the front with startled cries and thuds of impact. The driver—Davies, Leonard had heard Abrams call her—looked hastily over her shoulder. "Sorry!" she yelped. "I think we've spotted our target! Can you guys be ready to—"

She broke off as the van jounced in place. Then it thumped again, more forcefully. Leonard suddenly found himself remembering _Jurassic Park_ , and the sight of water rippling in a glass, with a numbingly cold feeling in his stomach. A third time the van bounced, this time hard enough to rattle Leonard's teeth. He leant forward, twisted and stared out the windshield.

Something huge, spiky and concrete-coloured came plunging out of the sky and landed between the SWAT vans, right in front of their own vehicle, fists planted in the asphalt like it was only mud. The _WHAM_ of impact lifted the van so far off the ground Leonard felt his butt leave the seat; then the van slammed back down with an earsplitting bang _,_ so hard the windshield shattered and one of the back doors popped open. The wind knocked out of him, Leonard gaped at the thing glaring back at them through the broken windscreen.

Sammy looked like he might be fully ten feet tall now, nearly as wide at the shoulders, only his sheer mass preventing him from standing completely upright. He lifted clawed, spiked hands that looked big as manhole covers, grabbed the SWAT van by its hood, and began to lift it slowly off the ground. Metal creaked and groaned. In the driver's seat, Davies fumbled out her sidearm, swung it up and unloaded it at the monster; the thunder of the pistol drove spikes of agony through Leonard's ears. He cringed down, covering them, as the others yelled in fright and huddled back. Sparks flashed off Sammy's face and chest as the bullets ricocheted harmlessly away. Then, as the van lifted higher and higher, he felt himself sliding backwards and down towards the open rear door.

The back door of the first SWAT van burst open; Abrams' officers leapt out, levelling their rifles. Davies screamed a warning, unbuckled herself and rolled out of the seat, almost falling down into the back compartment. In the next second the air exploded with the roar of automatic weapons. Sammy bellowed in anger and pain; the van dropped out from under Leonard's butt, then smacked him hard as they both hit bottom, his teeth whacking painfully together. He threw himself to the floor, falling into a loud and elbow-ridden pile along with everybody else; his skin sizzled with ice-cold sweat as bullets whistled audibly over his head.

The van jounced again, and Leonard caught a flicker of movement from the corner of his eye as Sammy shot skyward. The gunfire ceased. His ears ringing, Leonard barely heard Abrams, even though he knew the SWAT sergeant was shouting at the top of his lungs. ". . . _cease fire, dammit! CEASE FIRE!_ " Footsteps pounded asphalt; Abrams thrust his head through the broken windshield. "Everybody all right in here?! Davies! Status!"

"Uninjured, sir," Davies rasped, pushing herself upright.

"Can we get some warning next time you do something like that, though?" said Raj tremulously, lifting one hand. "I would really rather have clean underwear if I wind up going to the hospital."

Bernadette, who had managed to huddle into an even smaller space on the van's floor than she normally took up, swivelled her head to gape at Leonard with huge eyes. Her helmet had slipped askew on her head; like Leonard's, it was too big for her. " _That_ was Sammy?" she squeaked. " _That's_ the guy you need my help to stop?! Are you out of your flipping _mind,_ Leonard?!"

"Would it reassure you if I said not any more than the rest of the world is?" Leonard offered feebly.

"Not a lot," said Bernadette.

Davies had scrambled back into the driver's seat. With a flick of one hand she put the van in neutral, revved the engine a couple of times, then nodded. "Okay, vehicle mobility unimpaired, looks like," she said. "All right, people, let's turn around and get back at—" She turned to look back at them and stopped, jaw falling open. For a moment Leonard had no idea why. Then his stomach knotted up in a lump of ice. He turned to look back out the van's rear door.

Sammy was stalking towards them, his steps slow, heavy and clumsy, but utterly unflagging. Beams of light stabbed down from the helicopters hovering overhead, painting him in a stark white glare that followed him as he moved. Screams and cries split the air as pedestrians fled, streaming away from the monster like rabbits fleeing a hawk. The gargantuan arms swung like scaled, armoured pistons. Leonard could hear his rasping breath from where he sat, like Darth Vader but far more liquid and angry. Step by step, Sammy came closer, not taking his eyes off the van. Leonard tried to think of something to say—a warning, a command, a plea, anything—and couldn't. He saw absolutely nothing of the small ratlike man he'd first seen in the Camelot hotel room. It felt like he was watching a movie: unreal, incomprehensible.

Then, with a whoosh of displaced air, Penny dropped out of the night sky into the glare of the copters' spotlights and landed on the street between Sammy and the van. Sammy stopped and tilted his head back with a groan of frustration. "Oh, Christ, bitch, not _you_ again," he growled.

"Yeah, I just keep turning up," Penny agreed, raising her voice over the noise of the helicopters. She sounded almost as hoarse as Sammy did, the toll of several minutes' shouting over her radio and the near-strangulation still visible as a bruisy ring about her neck. "Call me 'Bad Penny', if you like."

Leonard blinked and spoke before he realized it. "That's . . . a _really_ bad joke, sweetheart."

"Gimme a break, sweetie, I'm out of practice with the badass quip thing," Penny grumbled over her shoulder. She put her hands on her hips and gave Sammy an exasperated look. "You really want to do the whole go-round again? 'Cause I think we've seen how that works out."

Sammy blinked at her, then squinted past her at Leonard where he knelt inside the van's rear entrance. "'Sweetie'?" he echoed. " _This_ is the bitch _you_ were marrying, Hofstadter? How'd you pull _that_ off?"

"Oh, you don't want to get into _that_ story," said Sheldon unexpectedly, leaning out around the door. Beneath his helmet, he was even paler than normal, eyes bright with fear but brighter with manic determination. "It's an extremely and unnecessarily drawn-out saga of mutual incomprehension, exploited pity, foolhardy devotion, and a wholly counterproductive degree of carnal obsession which was fortunately likewise mutual, saved only by the fact that their counterpart insecurities happen to match almost perfectly. And by my own patience, unwavering support and encouragement."

Leonard couldn't repress a double-take. "' _Unwavering support and encouragement'_?!" he repeated incredulously. "I can count the times you encouraged our relationship on _one hand!_ With _fingers_ left over!"

"Well, that's just—" Sheldon's indignation abruptly collapsed into a sheepish look. ". . . unfortunately true," he acknowledged. "But it helped get you here, didn't it?"

"Jesus." Sammy spread his massive hands out and shook his head. "What'd I do, huh?" he asked the sky. "It's not enough I turn into this, it's not enough I get smashed through every wall in Vegas, I gotta listen to a bunch of geeks bitch at each other too?"

Leonard got his temper under control and grabbed the opportunity. "And _that_ ," he said, "is exactly what I wanted to talk to you about, Sammy." He slid out of the SWAT van and hurried to Penny's side, squinting against the spotlights' glare and slipping an arm around her shoulder without thinking about it. She leaned into him, her own arms sliding around his waist. "What if," Leonard pointed at Sammy with his free hand, "we could figure out a way to help you, Sammy? Get this—" he gestured at the man's gigantic form "—under control? Help you shut it down? Maybe even learn how to turn it on or off?"

Sammy's eyes narrowed, almost disappearing in the crusted, monstrous face. "An' why the fuck would _you_ . . . wanna help _me?_ "

Leonard swallowed; he glanced at Penny. Her mouth tightened, but she nodded, and he looked back to Sammy. "Because we don't actually want to do any more damage. To you, or to anybody. And because . . . well, in a way, because this is my fault. I'm the person who designed the experiment that set off the Power Pulse—"

"Based on _my_ grand unification theory and _my_ theorized oneirion particles," Sheldon interrupted.

"Oh my _God_ , Sheldon, can we fight about the blame later?!" Leonard burst out, so angrily that both Penny and Sammy actually started. He caught himself and forced calm back into his voice, bringing his hands down as if physically stuffing something back into a box, then turned back to Sammy. "The upshot is, if we can help you, I think we have to. So please. Let us help you." He held out his hand.

Sammy looked at the hand, then glanced at Penny and let out a breath, his body seeming to crumble slightly like a drying-out sandcastle. "You know, I wanna believe you," he said at length. "I really do. But the last time you guys gave me this spiel, a buncha cops tried to shoot me. And, ya know . . . ." He trailed off meaningfully, then gestured around them.

Leonard blinked and looked around. His stomach sank. He had been so focused on Sammy that he hadn't heard the SWAT officers moving stealthily into a surrounding circle, their weapons now all levelled squarely at the giant. Beyond them, a larger ring of police officers had cleared a safety zone, keeping the pedestrians who hadn't already fled out of the street. Sammy only lifted his hands to the night sky in a classic _Whatchagonnado?_ gesture and laughed, a grinding, weary chuckle like gravel being crushed in his chest. "Shit, guys," he rumbled. "You _know_ you can't stop me with that crap."

The officers didn't move, but several of them flicked glances back and forth at each other. Abrams, who was squarely behind Sammy, didn't take his eyes off the man. "Irrelevant," he said. "It's our duty to try. And Dr. Hofstadter has a point. If you ever want to be normal again—"

"—so you can send me up for ten to twenty? Or shoot me?" finished Sammy, glaring over his shoulder at Abrams. "Yeah, no, I don't think so." Then he turned back to Leonard and Penny. "Little tip, Doc," he growled. "Next time you wanna catch flies with honey, make sure you actually got some honey. I got no use for 'normal' anymore." He made a sound that was half cough, half laugh—it sounded more painful than amused—and pointed at them with a claw that looked like broken, dirty rebar. "And you guys don't look like you got any normal left to give, either."

Leonard opened his mouth, then stopped, shocked by how hard the remark had hit. _Normal_. He'd never been normal, or so he'd always flattered himself—and, yes, now he faced up to it, it _was_ flattery; like Sheldon, he'd always taken pride in the intellect that set him apart from most people. He'd merely been far better than Sheldon at keeping it secret, and at keeping it in perspective. But compared to where he stood now, his old life, his old self . . . they really had been far more "normal" than he'd ever realized, hadn't they? Were they all really so far gone that none of them could ever get any of that back? He looked at Penny, hoping to ground himself, but the baffled look in her eyes was no help.

Sammy looked up, past Abrams, southwards to where the Grand Camelot towered in its halo of blue, green and gold light; the metal sword at the top of the obelisk glinted in the spotlights. "I think I'm gonna go get some of my stuff," he announced, "and then I'm gonna leave. Anybody wants to stop me, feel free to try." He trudged up to Abrams and pushed him out of the way with inexorable force. Abrams stumbled across the asphalt and caught himself, blinking. Sammy only continued down the street, heading for the Camelot, steps hammering the street in weblike puddles of cracks. The helicopters followed, keeping their spotlights steady on him, but he didn't look up. Abrams stared after him as if he couldn't believe what had just happened. One by one, the SWAT officers lowered their weapons, glancing at each other and at Abrams.

"Well, _that_ was a singularly ineffective approach," Sheldon grumbled after a moment.

"I dunno," said Penny. "Beats getting strangled." Her hand went to her throat and she rubbed at the bruises, wincing. "Okay, sweetie, what do we do now?"

Staring at Sammy as the giant strode away, Leonard realized that his mouth was still hanging open. He shut it with a snap. If his plan was going to work, they needed to immobilize Sammy somehow, just long enough to do what needed to be done. But strong as they were, neither Penny nor Amy had the mass or leverage needed to hold Sammy in place on the ground; they might be able to lift him into the air, but neither was physically big enough to pin all his limbs, and anybody getting within reach would only get a gigantic fist in the face. They needed to trap him with something, or in something—

The idea hit him so sharply it almost felt like being Tased again. He stiffened, then spun and ran to the van, grabbing Sheldon by the arm and pulling him down. "Out, out!" he shouted, ignoring Sheldon's offended glare. "Everybody out, come on, come on! Officer Davies, you too, please!"

As Bernadette, Lucy, Raj and Amy scrambled out of the van, Davies looked at Abrams. Abrams scowled. "Hofstadter?" he demanded.

Leonard turned back and met the SWAT sergeant's eyes. "Trust me," he begged, aware as he said it that he might well be lying. He had no idea if this would work.

Desperation seemed to be an adequate substitute for conviction, in the event. Abrams lifted his arms in a helpless shrug, looking more like Sammy than he realized, then gestured at Davies and stepped back. Davies slipped out of the driver's seat and slammed the door shut. Leonard beckoned Amy and Penny, grabbed them by one shoulder each and muttered his instructions to them; when he finished, Penny was staring at him in disbelief and Amy was grinning. "Are you _nuts?_ " Penny demanded.

"I'm open to better ideas," said Leonard. "Got any?"

"Nothing that _awesome_ ," said Amy gleefully, practically bouncing on her feet. She grabbed Penny by the elbows. "Come on, bestie, please, please, let us try? I don't need to know how to fight to do this."

Penny rolled her eyes. "You have _definitely_ gotten too much into this hero crap, Ames," she grumbled, and turned to the others. "Okay, guys, stand back." She waved them away from the van, then went to one of the back doors and gripped it by top and bottom. Amy did the same with the other door. They locked eyes and nodded. "Right," Penny said, "one, two, _three_ —"

They tore the doors off simultaneously, the hinges breaking in a flurry of deafening snaps, and tossed them to the street with discordant clangs. The SWAT officers yelled in alarm and indignation, but stopped at Penny's glare. Abrams groaned and put his hand over his face; he was probably envisioning his budget report, Leonard guessed. Penny paused and met Leonard's gaze, her glare fading into a nervous look. "You sure about this?"

"I trust you," said Leonard simply. He wanted to say more, but he was more than half afraid Abrams might lose his patience and try to shut them down if he got any sappier. So he only held her eyes and touched his chest. Penny's mouth trembled for a moment, her eyes huge. Then her jaw tightened.

"Okay, Ames," she said. "Let's do this."

Amy nodded with a visible gulp. But she didn't hesitate. She and Penny hurried back to the front of the van and knelt down. There was a moment of silence. Then the van creaked. Shifted. Metal groaned. And the van began to lift, rising up and tilting back. With a _clang_ and a cacophony of falling gear, it dropped onto its back end, almost teetering over before the girls stabilized it. Shaking their hands out, Penny and Amy went to either side of the van and without ceremony punched holes straight through its armour, two on each side. Bernadette gasped, hands to her mouth, and Lucy's jaw dropped. Even Sheldon looked a bit aghast.

He never had really seen Amy in action using super-strength, Leonard realized; he had been too Taser-stunned at his mother's to notice the fight, and too terrified by Amy's fall to watch her handle the FBI copter. Absurdly, Leonard found himself hoping it wouldn't disrupt their relationship. He himself had always found Penny's superior physical prowess hot, rather than intimidating—well, mostly—and wouldn't have expected Sheldon to care about such things one way or the other, but Amy had a long-proven capacity for getting unexpected reactions out of his roommate.

The girls got their hands seated in the holes they'd just punched. Penny paused for one last glance at Leonard, then lifted her head. "Okay, Amy," she called, "again, together: one, two, _three!_ " She bent her legs and jumped. Together, the van suspended between them, they shot into the air—and decelerated, their upwards movement stalling some twenty feet above the street. The van held still in the air for a surreal second, then began slipping back downwards with slow, nightmarish inexorability. Leonard's breath stopped. He could see the strain in Penny's clenched teeth, in Amy's bunched and trembling arms. Had they finally found the limits of the girls' power? The FBI copter had been far heavier, but they hadn't had to do more than slow and guide its fall. This required controlled lift and targeted movement. Dread twisted in his stomach. Maybe this _had_ been too much . . . .

But then Penny closed her eyes, taking several deep breaths. "Amy," she called. "It's not about strength. It's not the muscles. It's _you_ —it's _us._ Your _mind!_ All you need with your hands is to hold the van still. Lift with your gut. _Think_ yourself up." The strain faded from her face; she looked almost peaceful. The van's descent slowed, then stopped. "Last time, Amy, with me," Penny said. "One. Two. Three."

A beat of silence and stillness ticked by—and then the van ascended smoothly, not fast but steadily, rising upwards and upwards until it was over a hundred feet in the air, its black armour rendering it near-invisible against the night sky. Screams went up from the watching crowd, and Leonard held his breath again: would Sammy realize what was happening? But the monster, already more than halfway back to the Camelot, didn't even seem to pause or look up. Leonard wondered if Sammy even _could_ look up far enough at this point—the armour-encrustation around his head and neck seemed so thick now that it might well be interfering with his movement, like Michael Keaton's rubber Bat-cowl in the Tim Burton _Batman._

Giddy exultation swelled in his breast. _Holy crap, this might actually work._ He beckoned Raj, Lucy and Bernadette towards him. "Everybody, together, holding hands—yeah, you too Lucy." With his free hand, he grabbed Sheldon's arm. "When the van comes down," he told Sheldon, "I want you to put all of us right next to it. Teleport us there. Got it?"

Sheldon yanked his arm out of Leonard's grasp with an indignant expression. "Leonard, I don't recall you being deputized to give—"

" _Dammit, Sheldon, stop arguing with me!_ " The volume of his roar startled Leonard himself, but he was too angry to let it stop him. He grabbed the edge of Sheldon's vest and yanked the taller man down until they were face to face, glaring straight into Sheldon's shocked, wide eyes. Out of the corner of his eye, he was vaguely aware everyone else was staring at them; he didn't care. "Now are you going to _do what I say,_ or not?!"

Sheldon blinked at him, then twitched away and upright, suddenly looking no more than mildly miffed. "All right, yeesh," he said. "No need to get all handsy-touchy about it. Of course I can put us where we need to be. Just let me get ready for it." He brushed himself down, took Bernadette's hand and held his elbow out for Leonard to grab.

Raj frowned. "You'll hold Bernadette's hand, but not Leonard's? Real nice, dude."

"Bernadette works in a bio research lab," said Sheldon loftily. "I've lived with Leonard for over ten years. Whose personal sterilization habits would _you_ trust more?"

"Oh _come on_ ," demanded Leonard in disbelief. "Seriously?"

"Well, it wouldn't kill you to wash your hands after using the toilet a little more often," Raj remarked.

"Guys!" said Lucy, more loudly than Leonard ever remembered her speaking—which still wasn't much, but coming from her it was startling enough to cut the squabble off at the knees. She nodded down the street with her chin. "I think this might be it."

Forgetting all his annoyance on the instant, Leonard found himself up on tiptoes, craning his neck. The police and onlookers lining the street had parted like the Red Sea before Moses, keeping instinctively back from Sammy as he neared the Camelot; among them, Leonard could see the lenses of cameras here and there—news crew, or just lucky amateurs, he didn't know. A trail of cracked dents in the street marked where his feet had fallen. He held one ogrish hand up, shading his head from the glare of the helicopters' spotlights. Leonard held his breath. _Come on, Penny, Amy, any second now . . . ._ Only the strength with which he was gripping Bernadette's hand made her grip on his less painful. _Come on, girls, bring it_ —

" _Bad Boys, Bad Boys, whatcha gonna do? / Whatcha gonna do when they come for you! / Bad Boys, Bad_ —" As everyone swung around to stare at him, Abrams fumbled his smartphone out of his belt and silenced the ringtone. His face redder than his hair, he jammed the phone against his ear. "Abrams, _what?!_ " he snarled through clenched teeth.

With startling speed, the anger vanished from his face, leaving it unnervingly pale and blank. He straightened, his shoulders relaxing and his free hand falling to his side. "Yes," he said flatly. "Yes. Yes, sir. Yes."

For no reason he could name, the hairs on the back of Leonard's neck went up. He was no psychiatrist, but by dint of several years in therapy and osmosis around his mother he had learned enough to know that emotional affect didn't naturally change that fast . . . unless there was something seriously off behind it. But it was more than that. Something about the big SWAT leader's stance, expression, his whole _being_ suddenly felt . . . wrong. As if something had reached into him, given his soul a quarter-twist and pushed it down and back, leaving only a simulacrum behind—

" _Leonard!_ " shouted Bernadette, and Leonard whipped his head back just in time to see the SWAT van come hurtling down out of the night with only the tiniest whicker of air for warning, slamming down around Sammy rear-end first with a massive _BANG_ like a gigantic metal tumbler clapping down over a bug. Screams came from the crowd. The impact was so fierce it crumpled down the back half of the van, leaving Sammy with his head jammed through the empty windshield, his arms pinned by the van's teetering armoured shell. As Amy and Penny dropped down and collapsed to hands and knees with the force of their landing, the van tipped over and crashed onto its side with another _bang_. Sammy's head wobbled, clearly dazed. Even Amy and Penny seemed to have shocked themselves; they knelt motionless on the street, staring at the trapped giant.

" _Yeeeehaaawww!_ " Sheldon bellowed without warning, jumping and punching the air like a high-schooler watching his team make a touchdown. "That's what you get when you mess with _our_ girlfriends!" He looked around at their flabbergasted expressions and suddenly seemed to recall himself. "As they'd say back in East Texas," he muttered.

Leonard came to his senses. "Okay, Sheldon, get us within arm's reach! Everybody knows what they have to do, right?" Bernadette, Lucy and Raj Lucy nodded, and Leonard grabbed his roommate's elbow. "Sheldon?"

"Yes, Leonard, everybody knows what they have to do," said Sheldon, and suddenly Leonard felt like he'd been punched in the stomach: Sheldon was wearing the earnest-but-certain look that always presaged the revelation of his most infuriating decisions. "Except apparently yourself. Everybody else has some variety of enhanced ability to defend themselves if something goes wrong. You do not. So the most sensible action for _you_ is to stay right here at a safe distance and trust the rest of us to carry out the plan." He yanked his elbow free of Leonard's grip—not something he would normally have been able to do, but Leonard's hands had gone strengthless with shock—and pointed at him. "Stay," he ordered, as if Leonard was a recalcitrant dog. " _Stay_."

Before Leonard could respond, Sheldon vanished, and Bernadette, Raj, and Lucy all disappeared with him; in the same instant they reappeared some thirty metres down the street, steps from the fallen van. Leonard gaped after them, not sure whether he wanted to weep, punch Sheldon, or fall to the ground kicking and screaming. But the immediate flurry of action held him still for a moment: Raj flung out a hand, pointing at Sammy, and Lucy moved in and took his other hand, ready to take them both safely out of phase on the instant. Sammy roared with a note Leonard had never heard before—a confused, despairing howl, worlds away from his normal bellows of rage. And as he shook his head like a bear trying to shake off a swarm of wasps, Bernadette raced in, ducked under that spiked, horned head and slapped both tiny hands against it. Sammy froze, his howl dying into silence on the instant. As if likewise paralyzed, Raj, Lucy, Sheldon, Amy and Penny stood still around the van, black silhouettes against the white glare of copters' spotlights.

". . . look out, gangway, comin' through!" Leonard spun and saw Howard, his battery clutched in his arms, skittering down through the air towards him and the SWAT officers; he ignored the yells and cries from the onlookers as he braked to a stop beside Leonard, floating an inch or so above the street. "Leonard? What's going on?"

Leonard cast a glance back at the tableau on the street, just before the Camelot's driveway. "Well, I don't want to jinx it," he said, "but I think . . . I think we might just be winning." He scowled at Howard. "What the hell took _you_ so long, anyway?"

"Hey, _you_ try doing jury-rig electronic repairs without a tool kit or soldering gun on a dark street after skating on air for over a mile," said Howard, sounding miffed. He frowned at the tableau down the street, then suddenly stiffened. "Wait a minute. Is that—is that—" Horror and fury filled his face like a tidal wave coming in. " _Bernadette!_ " he bellowed, and fumbled at the control for his skates.

Leonard grabbed his hand, wrestling the control out of his grip. "Howard, _wait!_ " he shouted. "She's not in any danger—all the rest of them are there, they can get her out if anything goes wrong, and—"

Hands like steel clamps seized him, hauled him back away from Howard and slammed him down to the ground, face first; his arms were jerked up behind his back, the pain so abrupt and huge Leonard couldn't even scream—all that came out was a kind of whimpering yelp. Howard had been captured with equal, and equally humiliating, ease, one of the SWAT officers ripping the wire away from his battery and killing the power to his skates. The man holding Leonard down looked at Abrams. "We, uh—" He cleared his throat. "Suspects immobilized as ordered, Sergeant. What, uh, what do you want us to do?"

With effort, his neck screaming with the pain, Leonard managed to scrape his face around against the street's asphalt to look at Abrams. The SWAT sergeant was staring down at them with the same blank look that had come over him during that phone call: a completely empty look, like a mannequin's. It was more terrifying than the FBI choppers, than Rozokov's sociopathic affability, even than Sammy's horrendous power. It was like the man was simply gone and something hollow had been left behind.

"Restrain them," he said, voice as flat and toneless as unmarked paper. He nodded at Howard, who was screaming obscenities at him. "And gag that one." He turned and headed back to the second SWAT van. Two of the officers exchanged uncertain looks, but after a moment, one of them pulled a roll of black duct tape from his belt, ripped a couple of strips free and got them over Howard's mouth. It only muffled Howard's shrieks of fury. The man who'd applied the tape hesitated, reached out as if to pat Howard's shoulder, then seemed to give up.

"What the hell's going on here, Ed?" said the man holding Leonard, sounding worried. "I thought we had a truce 'til that thing got put down?"

The man with the tape, Ed, shrugged unhappily. "You wanna be the one who argues, Nate? Maybe he decided to get a jump on—" He turned to look back towards Abrams and stopped, mouth falling open. Leonard felt Nate's hands jerk where they held him, as if the other officer was equally shocked. He scraped his face on the street again as he got his head around.

Everything inside him froze in a single, arctic-cold blast at the sight of what the SWAT sergeant was carrying. Abrams strode past him, past the officers restraining Howard, completely ignoring the aghast looks of his own men. He walked a few yards down the street, his face still utterly blank and empty, seemingly not even aware of the throat-rending sounds Howard was making behind his gag of tape. Then he stopped and hoisted the six-foot tube of the rocket launcher to his shoulder.

He spread his feet slightly, shifted the launcher around until its aim was centred dead on his friends where they surrounded Sammy, and pulled the trigger just as Leonard lifted his head and screamed at the top of his lungs:

" _SHELDON!_ "


	17. Chapter 17

THE METAHUMAN TRANSFIGURATION

 **Description:** The gang gets superpowers. It's not as cool as some of them always thought. Alternate Season 9 premiere.

 **Notes:** The Muse was kind enough to help me update more quickly again, and I'm hoping to be able to keep this up as I close in on the story ending. I have to admit to the readers that I was a little worried this story had gone a little over the top in terms of its action, but I happened this evening to take in the film _X-Men: Apocalypse_ , and it convinced me that I was nowhere near the top yet, which was a profound relief. I strongly recommend the film to superhero fans and hope this next chapter provides at least a little of the same kind of entertainment.

 **Disclaimer:** The author does not own THE BIG BANG THEORY or any of the characters.

\- 17 -

LAS VEGAS BOULEVARD SOUTH, LAS VEGAS, NEVADA

FRIDAY, AUGUST 28, 2015, 10:29 P.M.

On her knees underneath an up-ended SWAT van, her hands pressed against the stony skin of a monster that had once been human, Bernadette poured her power into Sammy's body, trying desperately to fight her way through his rage and pain to reach the critical neurological pressure point within.

It was like nothing she had ever experienced. Healing Lucy's injury had come so naturally it was almost as if the power had done it without her; all she'd had to do was make contact and let the energy flow the way it wanted. The things she'd done to the gangsters in the Camelot's under-corridor had taken more force and more determination, but her anger had carried her through it, and it had happened so fast the gangsters hadn't had time even to understand what she was doing, let alone resist it. But when she'd thrust her hands against Sammy's concrete-and-metal carapace, she'd found herself drowning in a typhoon of fury and anguish, like she was fighting her way upstream against a river in full flood—and a boiling-hot scalding river to boot.

The metabolic sense that had awakened with her power pulled flashes of insight and realization out of that flood, like fluttering Polaroids slamming briefly against a glass windscreen before whirling away into the maelstrom. She reeled under the memory of Raj's anger-blast, brain thrown into disarray. She saw her arm—no, not _her_ arm, it was wiry, olive-skinned and hairily male—buried seamlessly in a carpeted floor as if growing out of it, and felt the aghast dismay of realizing what Lucy must have done. She saw a face reflected in an elevator door, narrow and ratlike, but eyes and mouth so wide with horror he seemed more boy than man. She felt the red-white blast of pain as a comrade's wild gunshot grazed her temple and knocked her senseless. She felt the sanity-bursting agony as under that twinned shock, the latent oneirion field implanted in Sammy's brain by the Power Pulse burst open like a golden, inhuman seedpod, flowering into warped and hideous blossom, saving Sammy's life the only way it could: by sucking in the minerals and metals that had become embedded in his body, converting his entire metabolism into something that could absorb and incorporate the inorganic substance to become stronger. And then, still in pain, still confused and dazed, he had attacked the only source of his anguish he could see, unwittingly locking them and himself into a feedback cycle that only gave his power more and more to feed upon. By now he was so far gone—more golem than man—that it might well be impossible to restore him to what he once had been.

But Bernadette had never had a lot of patience for people who called things impossible. And if there was one thing she hated more than being short, it was losing. She fastened on the memory of Sammy's human face. If there was any trace of what he had been in this body, then it was there to reactivate, if she could just find a way to shut down that golden-white firestorm raging in the man's brain under Raj's constant assaults of despair and sorrow. She knew it was the only thing keeping him too off-balance to fight back and free himself, but God, if she could just get a _few_ seconds of calm with which to work—!

She realized what had to happen, and swallowed. But there was no way around it. "Raj!" she called. "Ease up on the mind-blasts! I need to feel his brainwaves on their own! Undistorted!"

"Bernadette, I really don't think that's a good idea!" Raj protested.

"It isn't! But I can't find the pressure point I need to if I can't see it!"

"Oh, God," Raj moaned. "Sheldon, can you teleport us all out as fast as you brought us in?"

"If we can maintain physical contact, yes," said Sheldon, after a moment.

Bernadette shook her head, not looking around. "Not gonna work," she stated. "If I touch Sheldon I'm gonna pick up on his system too, and I can't afford the distraction."

"Then Sheldon, you get ready to teleport Raj, Lucy and yourself out," said Penny. "Amy, get over here." As if feeling heat on her skin, Bernadette sensed the two girls sprinting over, until they stood beside her one on each side. "Bernadette, if things go wrong, we're gonna fly you out. Got it?"

Bernadette managed to nod. "Got it. Okay, Raj, drop—"

" _SHELDON!_ "

Leonard's distant, horrified cry broke her concentration. The connection with Sammy shattered like glass. Bernadette lost her balance and fell back, landing hard on her butt, turning just as she saw a flash of light and something streaked towards them with a whooshing roar from the last SWAT van. Sheldon, the first to turn, instinctively threw up one hand. And suddenly the streaking flash of light had flipped through an instant ninety-degree turn, shooting almost straight up, higher and higher above them. It crashed into the top of the Camelot, just below the giant metal sword, and exploded in a thunderous _BOOM_ that momentarily turned the sky daytime-bright. The fireball licked upwards and died away. Shrapnel hailed down, and Bernadette ducked, covering her head with her arms.

"Those sons of bitches," said Raj in complete, flabbergasted shock. "They shot a fucking _rocket_ at us." Bernadette could only nod numbly, so stunned that the experience of hearing Raj actually swear went completely unremarked. The astrophysicist let go of Lucy's hand and suddenly began jumping up and down, almost completely insane with rage, waving his fists at the SWAT officers by the van. " _What the hell, you assholes! What the fuck! What_ —"

He was cut off by a deafening _CRACK_ from above. Raj froze. Then he looked up. Bernadette followed his gaze. Beside her, trapped in the shell of the van, even Sammy had stopped writhing, and had twisted his head to look upwards. The three-story-tall sword at the top of the Camelot had tilted. For a second, nobody moved. Bernadette wasn't even sure she remembered how to breathe.

Then there came another horrendous _CRACK_ , then another. Then a chain of plangent, discordant _twangs_ as anchor cable after anchor cable snapped. The sword tilted over, farther and farther. And then, before Bernadette could summon the wherewithal to react, there came one final _CRASH_ as the sword broke off from its concrete at its base and, faster than Bernadette would have believed, came plummeting straight down at them. She watched it come, frozen, not even able to move her arms. At her side, Penny and Amy stared up with equal, dazed paralysis.

 _Howie_ , Bernadette thought.

10:30 P.M.

When the rocket from Abrams' weapon abruptly flipped itself in midair, shot up to the top of the building and exploded, Leonard collapsed in relief, his eyes leaking tears and his throat raw from his warning shout. Howard had likewise collapsed, panting and gasping. When this was all straightened out, Leonard thought, he was going to hug Sheldon and not let go, and the other man's misophobia be damned. The gangly physicist must have done one of his spacetime warps; the vector change had been too instant and complete for any actual physical force, and if Penny had tried to kick or punch the rocket upwards she would have likely as not set it off herself. Abrams lowered the launcher, staring at the result, face still thoughtlessly blank, like a robot hitting a pause loop in its operating code. He seemed completely unaware of Raj jumping and shrieking at him like a maniac.

Then the noise of the fracturing sword silenced the street. The giant metal sculpture tilted over, its shadow falling across the lamppost-lit asphalt, breaking free of its mounting. Leonard froze, all the misery of this night suddenly wiped away in what, at last, he knew was real horror. Helplessness—not for yourself, but for those you loved: Sheldon. Raj. Bernadette and her baby. Amy, Lucy . . . and Penny. Most of all, Penny. To watch death coming for them—for _her_ —knowing, like a spear through his gut, that he could do nothing.

The sword shattered at its base, plunging downwards from the peak of the Grand Camelot, spinning as it hurtled down at the small group gathered around the wrecked van where Sammy was trapped. Penny looked up, gaping, too flabbergasted to react, and the idea that the last expression she might ever wear in her life was one of sheer befuddlement was intolerable. Leonard wrenched one arm free from the dazed police officer restraining him, reaching out impotently toward the woman he loved, screaming something he couldn't understand himself, a wordless wail of denial, grief, pain and rage as tears blinded his eyes, watching as the multi-ton mass of metal came slicing down through the air and—

Something like lightning, ice and fire fused together burst throughout his spinal column, rocketing from the small of his back up into his brain and down into his groin. Every hair on his body spiked erect; his breath shut off like an airlock had slammed closed on his lungs. The world ignited in a weird, bluish-white radiance that made everything seem to glow. A vast, rushing surge of force gushed through him as if his entire body had become a firehose, erupting out through his outstretched hand in a blurry tidal wave of power. The shimmering, coruscating cone of distortion whiplashed out across the street and intercepted the gigantic sword bare metres from his friends' heads, seizing it in mid-air, freezing it there as if it had fallen into a transparent cloud of cotton wool.

The crowd's shrieks and cries died away, falling into a silence that rang with awe. Penny, Sheldon and the others had all reflexively cringed, but as the seconds trickled by and they realized nothing had happened, they lowered their arms, lifted their heads, and stared. One by one, each of them followed the cone of power back to its source, and gaped at him with utterly stunned looks. The police officers had stumbled back as well, putting some safe distance between him and them. Even Howard was staring, eyes wide and bright with the sourceless radiance coming off Leonard. Only the roar of the helicopters overhead, the sword now gleaming bright in their spotlights, made any sound.

Leonard moistened his lips. His head was buzzing and sparking like an enormous Tesla coil. He pushed himself up onto his knees, holding himself up with his other hand. It was difficult to breathe; he almost didn't dare try. He had no idea how he had done this or what might cause him to lose his grip on it. His first attempt at speech was a hoarse whisper. "Penny—Sheldon—" He cleared his throat, sucked in a breath and tried harder, this time managing a cracked yell. "Guys! Finish it! _Hurry!_ "

Bernadette was the first to snap back to herself. She scrambled to her feet, rushed over to the trapped Sammy and seized his head in both hands. Whether it was shock, confusion, or simple exhaustion, Sammy's resistance failed within seconds. Bernadette's eyes closed. A glow of light welled about her hands. Sammy slumped. Puffs of dust burst up between Bernadette's fingers, then blew through the windshield and the van's open rear entrance. A brittle, crackling sound echoed through the air. And then, with a crumbling roar, Sammy's armoured carapace split open, disintegrating into fragments of concrete, marble, metal and stone and spilling out from the van like sand from a broken hourglass. Bernadette plunged her hands into the dusty, gritty morass; Raj and Lucy rushed over to help, and within seconds the three of them had hauled Sammy—the real Sammy, the original, small, rat-faced man, now naked as a newborn—out of the wrecked SWAT van. They stumbled back and fell on their butts, the unconscious Sammy sprawled across their laps.

Leonard knew how they felt. He hadn't done more than hold his hand up and try to keep whatever power was blasting through him in operation, but already he felt like he was going to pass out. His arm burned like he'd been dragging a truck by hand, and dizziness was setting in. Something hot and wet trickled over his lips; he licked them, and tasted blood. " _Penny!_ " he shouted, voice rasping. "Move!"

He'd meant, _move yourself, get out of there,_ but Penny had clearly had a better idea. She signaled Amy, gestured at the sword and pointed down the street; after a moment, Amy nodded. The two of them leapt into the air, grabbed the sword and pushed hard, shoving it away from the Camelot, into the largest empty area of the street they could find. The sensation was strange, like an insubstantial pressure against his own hand. His vision blurred and his ears rang, as if he'd been holding his breath too long. His nose felt stuffed up. The sword moved as if they were pushing it through mud, but at last they reached an area with enough open space. They let go and floated backwards.

Leonard closed his eyes and willed both his mind and hand to relax. After a moment, the muscles of his arm finally unlocked and his hand fell. As if that movement had been the decoupling of a circuit, the force surging through him suddenly collapsed, dwindling instantly away to nothing; the tingling in his skin vanished, and through his closed eyes the light abruptly dimmed, shadow dropping back over him. He didn't see the sword hit the street, but he heard and felt it, a gigantic ringing _WHAM_ of metal on concrete and asphalt that knocked his trembling limbs out from under him and took the last of his strength. Whatever car alarms hadn't already been triggered by the fight with Sammy went off. Their yowling, wailing electronic tones chased him down into darkness.

10:31 P.M.

The aura of blue-white light surrounding Leonard blinked out as the massive metal sword sculpture crashed to the ground; he keeled over, his helmeted head smacking on the road. His glasses flew off. Blood was streaming from his nose. Penny clapped her hands to her mouth in horror and shot downwards; she landed beside him, pulled off the helmet and gathered him into her arms. "Leonard? _Baby?_ " He was utterly limp, his body the same deadweight it had been when they'd found him drugged upstairs in the hotel. Tears sprang to her eyes again. "Oh God, please, don't do this, not now, not when we've finally _won_ —" She hugged him to her breast, cradling him, her sobs almost drowned by the wailing car alarms going off everywhere.

Howard scrambled over to them, tried to say something, then rolled his eyes in disgust and ripped off the black tape covering his mouth. "OW!" he yelled, in startled annoyance. "Holy _crap_ , that hurt!" He tilted Leonard's head back from Penny, hissing at the sight of his friend's pale, slack, bloodstained face. "Oh, crap. 'Scuse me, Penny—" He pressed his hand to Leonard's neck, his lips moving as if counting, then nodded, looking relieved. "Okay, his pulse is steady, it looks like he just burst some capillaries in his nose from the physical strain. Not that that's great, if that's what it costs him to use that kind of power, but . . . ." He trailed off, staring at Leonard's unconscious form as if he'd never seen the man before. "Wow," he said after a moment. "Amy was right. It really does just take the right kind of stress, doesn't it?"

Before Penny could process that, movement caught the corner of her eye. She turned, and saw Abrams striding towards her, his smartphone clutched in one hand—and the other lifting his sidearm pistol up to point at her, his face weirdly expressionless. Instinct acted before understanding came: she dropped, rolling on her back and letting Leonard go as she did, and came up grabbing for the pistol, even as she remembered this was exactly the sort of move cops were generally trained to expect and avoid. But either her fury and fright made her faster, or something was slowing Abrams down; whatever the case, she was able to rip the pistol away from him with one hand and deck him with the other before he even seemed aware that she'd moved. Abrams flew backwards and crashed to the street, blood gushing from his flattened nose and his eyes rolled up, and did not move. His smartphone clattered across the pavement.

Howard squeaked in panic as the other SWAT officers reacted to the violence exactly the way cops usually did: all their weapons flashed right back up and took dead aim at Penny, giving off a rippling wave of metallic clicks as their wielders readied them to fire. Penny glanced around, sighed in exasperation, then held up her hands, Abrams' pistol still in one. Officer Davies had to clear her throat before shouting, and even then, her voice still cracked: "Miss Carmichaels! Drop that weapon, now!"

Penny grimaced. She supposed she couldn't really blame Davies or the rest of the SWAT team, but this was getting on her last nerve. She locked eyes with Davies, then tightened her fist on the pistol as hard as she could. The result wasn't as spectacular as she'd hoped—she'd half-thought the gun would distort and bend like clay, or that it would shatter completely into dust; instead, the slide only bent and snapped off the barrel and something cracked inside the chamber, causing the magazine to fall out. But from the way Davies' eyes widened as Penny tossed the pieces of the ruined firearm to the ground, it had been enough. Deliberately, Penny put both hands back above her head. "If you're going to cuff me, fine," she told the officer. "Just be aware that it's _my_ choice to restrain myself. Not yours."

"Officer Davies! Stand down! Stand down, _please,_ " said a strangely familiar voice, rich and deep and slightly breathless. Turning, Penny blinked at the sight of the tall, dark-skinned man running up to the ring of police officers; the others were trailing in his wake, all of them looking dazed, exhausted and a little bemused. But as Bernadette spotted Howard, the fatigue vanished from her face, and without even looking at the police officers she rushed past them to fling herself upon her husband. Howard only grabbed her and held tight, rubbing her back, whispering soothing words at her as she sobbed.

As if Bernadette's tears had been a signal, the atmosphere seemed to change, the violence draining out of it. The officers exchanged looks; one by one, the rifles came back down. Davies sighed, almost angrily, and went over to Abrams, kneeling down to check on him. The strangely familiar tall man came up to Penny with a smile. "Hi, Penny. I don't know if you remember me—the conference at Big Sur, a few years ago? Glenn?"

If Howard hadn't talked about this man yesterday she might not have placed him, but with the reference in mind the memory came back. She grinned in surprised delight. "Oh my God! Glenn! Hi!" She lifted her arms to hug him just as he held out his hand to shake; they caught themselves and reversed gestures, then did it again, until finally Penny said, "Aw, screw it," and just hugged him fiercely. It said something about how long she'd been with Leonard that embracing a physically much larger man now felt distinctly strange. But at the moment it was far too comforting to stop. Of all the people to be here . . . ! She found herself laughing almost giddily—and realized too late that the hysteria was sliding into tears of her own. She choked the sobs back, clinging fiercely to Glenn's shoulder. He held her steadily, his broad hands patting her back like her father might have.

Sheldon cleared his throat and leaned closer to Amy. "Amy," he said in a low voice, "if you feel any urge to cry in a similar fashion . . . could I please ask you to hug Raj? Salty moisture won't be good for the fabric of this T-shirt."

Caught by surprise—although she really shouldn't have been; she'd known Sheldon for years—Penny spluttered out a burst of laughter, let go of Glenn and scrubbed at her eyes, getting herself back under control. Amy turned slowly to face her boyfriend, her brows rising and her mouth opening in a way that warned of either a screaming fit or a breakdown, but Penny managed to intervene first. "Uh, Sheldon—don't you think being there for your girlfriend might be more important than your T-shirt?"

Sheldon frowned. "But this is an original-release print of the Flash logo, size S. They don't make these any more, you know."

"Would you rather take it off first?" demanded Penny, with heavy patience.

Sheldon's eyes widened in alarm. Without hesitation he turned to Amy, started opening his arms, and then pulled back a little. "Of course, if you _don't_ actually need some sort of physical consolation—" he began, before his breath _whoofed_ out of him with bulging eyes as Amy threw her arms around him. He gave Penny a sour look over Amy's head. "I hope you're happy."

Penny rolled her eyes. "Oh, come _on_ , Sheldon, don't you think you're past the germophobia with Amy? What are you gonna catch?" She knelt down and hoisted the unconscious Leonard into her arms, firmly telling herself that his ridiculous lightness was only her strength and not a sign of something wrong, as if he'd somehow hollowed himself out with that incredible burst of power. "She's almost as big a neat freak as you are."

"You think so?" Sheldon raised a skeptical eyebrow. "Well, her lab is well-organized, I concede, but _clearly_ you haven't seen her eat a sandwich with one hand and section a brain tumour with the other at the same time."

"Sheldon, for the love of—" Penny stopped and frowned. "Oh my God, Amy, you do that?"

Though she didn't let go of Sheldon, the tips of Amy's ears reddened, and she shifted her weight awkwardly. "Not . . . _all_ the time," she mumbled into Sheldon's vest.

Penny sighed. "Okay, Ames, I tried, but you know, _I_ kinda don't want to hug you right now."

"A- _hem,_ " said Glenn, vigorously clearing his throat and raising his voice. "People, if I could have your attention for a moment?" He paused until everyone had turned to him, then looked at Officer Davies. "I think the most important thing right now is to get our Primaries here out of the spotlight."

Davies frowned. "Primaries?"

"That's how the FBI designated them back in Pasadena," said Glenn. "They were the people with the closest, most intense exposure to the Power Pulse, as well as being the people involved in the source experiment, so they got labelled as the 'primary subjects', and the term just caught on." He glanced down at Abrams' unconscious body. "And we need to get _him_ back to one of the ambulances to set that nose, and figure out what happened to him first—I'm assuming it isn't standard SWAT procedure to use heavy weapons when there are still civilians in the target zone."

Davies clenched her jaw. Penny wondered if she was angry at Glenn for his none-too-subtle sarcasm or at Abrams for what he'd done. "No," she said. "No, it isn't." She beckoned two of her comrades over, then grabbed her radio from her belt and began issuing orders in a low voice. As the SWAT officers bent down, hauled up Abrams' unconscious body and carried him towards the ambulances on the other side of the Camelot, Glenn walked over to where Howard and Bernadette were kneeling and held out his hand.

It took Howard a moment to notice; when he did, he only stared up at Glenn blankly. Glenn simply waited. At last, Howard took the taller man's hand and let Glenn pull both him and Bernadette to their feet. He met Glenn's inscrutable expression with an unreadable look of his own. Bernadette looked between the men and bit her lip. Penny traded a worried glance with Amy—the last thing she felt like doing right now was trying to break up another fight.

But Howard surprised her. "Thank you," he said abruptly. "For trying to keep Bernie's name out of the spotlight. That _was_ you, right?"

"It was," Glenn acknowledged. "I'm only sorry circumstances seem to have made the effort moot." Howard frowned. Glenn gestured at the crowd, still kept back from the street around the Camelot by the police and firefighter lines, and indicated the cameras and phones still pointing in their direction. "With all the footage that's been taken of these events, the odds are good that whether you want to or not, Mr. Wolowitz, every single one of you is going to be identified and publicly named before Monday morning. Somebody from your own university will leak it in return for money, if nothing else."

"Ah, crap," said Howard, but he sounded more resigned than angry.

Bernadette squeezed his waist consolingly. "It's okay, honey," she murmured. "Ms. Locke already told us to expect this, right?"

"I know, I just . . . ." Howard sighed. "Look, I'm not taking comics as gospel here, but I've read enough of them to know that living in public as a superhero isn't always a good idea—I mean, jeez, this whole mess kicked off because a bad guy recognized Leonard when none of us expected it. I was just hoping we could give you and the baby some privacy, even if I'm not gonna get any."

Bernadette shrugged one shoulder. "I'm your wife, Howie," she pointed out. "And Penny and Amy are my best friends, and I'm gonna be involved in researching all this. It would have come out sooner or later. Now isn't any worse a time than any, I guess."

"You do have some advantages," said Glenn, and gave Sheldon a meaningful look. "Unlike most celebrities, you can exit a situation instantly, pretty much at your own discretion. And if you're interested, I'd like to recommend a destination."

Amy grinned awkwardly. "It wouldn't be the spa at that hotel in Big Sur, by any chance?"

Glenn chuckled. "No. I'd advise going back to Huntington Memorial. The information and the people needed to make some critical decisions are all centered there, and they should be able to keep the man you defeated under temporary control as well."

"As well as what?" said Raj, scowling. "As well as us, you mean?" As if in reflex, his arm tightened around Lucy's shoulder. "Why exactly should we go back to the place the FBI wanted to lock us up in to start with?"

Glenn sighed. "Dr. Koothrappali, if the events of tonight have proved anything, I think they've proved there's no possible way for anybody to keep _any_ of you anywhere you don't want to be. Miss Armbruster can walk through walls, Penny can punch holes in them, and Howard can blast them down. You yourself could terrify anyone into giving you a key. Dr. Cooper can teleport you all out as easily as he can bring us all there." He lowered his voice and nodded at Leonard, still unconscious in Penny's arms. "And if Dr. Hofstadter can repeat his little stunt, he might well be able to completely demolish any building we put him in. So I really don't think _you're_ the ones who have to be worried here."

Penny's mouth tightened. Glenn wasn't wrong, but she rather thought that if tonight had proven anything it was that they all, even she, had vulnerabilities, and that letting your guard down was the surest way for those vulnerabilities to bite you in the ass. Still, was there another option? She was quite sure she didn't much trust Mrs. Latham either, and you couldn't keep your guard up twenty-four-seven; they all had to sleep sometime. And whatever Howard said, Penny would much rather see Leonard getting proper help than counting on chance, or Mrs. Latham or even Bernadette, for his recovery . . . .

". . . _Penny._ "

Penny snapped her attention down to Leonard, who had stirred in her arms; his eyelids fluttered, and her heart turned over. She set him on his feet as the others gathered around and ran her hand over his cheek. "Baby," she murmured, her throat thick. "You okay?" She let his weight down onto his feet, then hastily caught him again as he buckled. "Whoops!—okay, I guess maybe not, not just yet . . . ."

"Phone," Leonard whispered, eyes still unfocused. With his glasses gone, he looked years younger. He licked his lips and swallowed. "Abrams . . . phone. Someone _called_ him, just before . . . ." He drew a deep breath; for a second his eyes met hers, and she froze at the intensity of the look. "It was . . . _wrong_ ," he husked. "Have to . . . find . . . ." Whatever strength he'd mustered went out of him again. His eyes rolled up and he slumped into Penny's grasp.

Penny looked up at Sheldon, their eyes meeting. It was one of their rare moments of perfect mutual understanding, and for once without any of the bemused disquiet that normally accompanied such synchrony. As Penny stepped forward, effortlessly holding Leonard out a little, and got Glenn's attention with an earnest question about whether Leonard would be all right, Sheldon turned slightly and pointed at Abrams' phone where it had fallen on the street. It vanished soundlessly and instantly. Penny didn't think anybody had noticed. She wondered where Sheldon had sent it, but wasn't too worried—when Sheldon really wanted to keep something safe and yet retrievable, he always knew how, and had no shortage of hiding places squirrelled away everywhere he'd ever been. She truly doubted the FBI would be able to find or predict them all, even if it occurred to them to look.

"I think Glenn's right," she said, looking around at her friends. "If there's anyplace where they might have figured how to tell if Leonard's all right, it'll be back there. And it's a lot closer to home. But I do have one suggestion for, uh, I guess you'd say, the logistics."

11:02 P.M.

It had taken longer to organize than Penny liked, but less time than she'd feared, mostly because with both Agent Anderson and Sergeant Abrams incapacitated the on-site chain of command had largely broken down. Most of the people they corralled seemed too grateful for clear instructions to be particularly skeptical of who was giving them—though it helped, Penny privately admitted, that Glenn was both imposingly tall and charismatically authoritative when he wanted to be, and was more than willing to drop his FBI contacts' names. At last, a line of vehicles had been arranged on the street: the working SWAT van, where Raj, Lucy and Howard were riding along with Glenn, Davies and Davies' men, and two ambulances, one containing Sammy and Abrams, with Bernadette along to keep them asleep, and the other carrying Anderson and Leonard. Penny, Sheldon and Amy stood at the head of the line, Amy still clinging to Sheldon's side.

Sheldon looked impatient. "Penny, I still fail to see why this is necessary. I'm perfectly confident of being able to execute this particular task on my own."

"I'm sure you are," said Penny. "But having an extra hand never hurts."

Sheldon frowned. "Actually, having an extra hand would indicate a degree of genetic mutation that would almost certainly involve lethal neoplasmic growth—"

" _Sheldon!_ "

"All right, all right, geez." Sheldon turned to Amy, paused a moment, then harrumphed and gave an oddly theatrical sigh. "I suppose you're going to insist on doing this the same way we did this morning?" He leaned forward, closed his eyes and pursed his lips. Penny's jaw dropped open.

Amy gulped. "Well, I wasn't going to _insist_ , but hell if I'm passing _that_ opportunity up—" She seized Sheldon's head in both hands, pulled it down and plastered her mouth over his. In sheer reflex Sheldon wrapped his arms around her to catch himself. Penny braced herself for Sheldon's reflexive pullback and Amy's inevitable, heart-wrenchingly disappointed look . . . and then her jaw fell open again as the kiss went on, and on, and Amy's arms slid around Sheldon's shoulders and their bodies melded seamlessly together. She shook her head, hit her forehead, pinched herself, and finally allowed herself a grin.

After close to a minute, though, even Penny's delight had given way to impatience. She cleared her throat loudly, which didn't work, and finally had to poke both Sheldon and Amy hard in the ribs until they sheepishly separated. Sheldon coughed. "I assume that was sufficient for power transfer?"

Amy nodded, blushing. "Yes, yes, it was. I'll let you take the lead . . . ." She stepped back. Sheldon moved in front of the SWAT van, drew a tiny circle in the air and squinted through it. He nodded and beckoned Amy to his side. They turned to face each other, hands palm to palm.

Then, without words, they lifted their hands and backed apart. The air separated between their raised hands as if they were pulling back a curtain; a semicircular arch sprang into being, widening and rising as Sheldon and Amy stepped further and further apart, until it was nearly thirty feet wide and fifteen feet high. From the watching crowd came gasps and cries of awe and a flurry of camera flashes. Through the arch, Penny could see the entrance to the Huntington Memorial Hospital driveway. She found herself swallowing. For all she'd seen the effect before, there was something profoundly different about seeing it on this scale, in a wide-open street in front of thousands of witnesses and camera lenses.

"Excuse me? Hello!" Sheldon's shout broke her mesmerized daze. He clapped his hands and jerked his head impatiently at the gateway. "Can we get this done promptly, please?"

"What's wrong? Are you having trouble holding the gateway open?"

Sheldon huffed. "It's not a 'gateway', it's a _contiguity_ , and no, I can leave this open as long as I like—the problem is that if someone tries to pull into the driveway on the other side they're going to pop out here, and if it's an ambulance that's going to leave someone up a serious geographical creek. So the quicker we can close this, the safer for all concerned. Good Lord, doesn't anybody but me ever think about the dangers of teleportation? It's a good thing you've got me here, Penny."

Penny stared at him. "Yeah," she finally said, mostly for complete inability to think of any other response. "Good thing. Yeah." Not wanting to give him a chance for more bloviating, she floated up off the asphalt, flew to hover in the centre of the archway, then revolved in mid-air and beckoned. The SWAT van's engines started up, followed by the ambulances. Penny let herself drift backwards through the arch. Driving with what in other circumstances would have been hilariously cautious slowness, the vehicles followed.

She had to give Sheldon this much: he'd positioned the archway perfectly at ground level on either side—there was no visible bump at all as the SWAT van and the ambulances crossed the threshold. Once on the other side, they picked up speed; Penny ascended swiftly out of their way and turned to watch them roll up towards the emergency entrance. Nurses and EMTs ran out to meet the vehicles, and within a minute the stretchers carrying Anderson, Abrams, Sammy, and Leonard were hustled into the hospital at top speed, surrounded by Davies and her SWAT team. Glenn, Bernadette and Howard went with them as well, and before Penny realized it the vehicles had been left abandoned. Only Raj and Lucy stood outside, looking a little bemused; they had disembarked with everybody else, but clearly nobody had told them what to do or where to go. Penny felt an odd urge to laugh or cry, and wasn't sure which. She let herself descend gently to the ground.

Sheldon and Amy walked together through the archway; Sheldon turned and made a sweeping gesture, bringing his arms together. To his obvious surprise, the archway didn't move. Amy cocked her head. "That's interesting," she said. "If we opened it together, do we have to close it together?"

"Oh, that makes no sense at all," Sheldon scoffed. His eyes narrowed. "Ah, I see. Yes, it's just a structural frequency issue. Excuse me, Amy . . . ." He held his hands up, palms facing each other, and his arms tensed as if he was trying to bring them together. His face tightened with effort. Then, suddenly, he spat a triumphant "Aha!" and his hands smacked together as if something invisible between them had broken. The archway snapped closed with a startling _crack_. And Amy cried out and staggered, holding her head as if something had struck her.

The sound punctured Sheldon's smugness in an instant; he caught her in his arms, alarm written brightly across his face. Equally alarmed, Penny ran to their side. "Amy!" Sheldon demanded. "What happened? Are you all right?"

Amy shook her head and massaged her temples with her palms. "Yes . . . yes, I think so. It felt like—well, it felt like for just an instant, I had the worst migraine of my life. But it's diminishing very quickly." She drew a deep breath and straightened. "Perhaps it was backlash from closing the contiguity. You looked like you were having to exert force, Sheldon."

"Uh . . . yes. Yes, I did. I thought it was simply a matter of conflicting wave structures." Sheldon's alarm had given way to a deeper dismay. Her heart twisting, Penny recognized his expression: it was the appalled look he only wore when he discovered he'd been catastrophically mistaken about something really important to him, like the day Leonard had told him his cashew chicken had been coming from a different restaurant for two years. "It never occurred to me that there could be an active feedback connection between our brains and the contiguity." Penny could almost see the question on his face as he stared at Amy and then at the space where the gateway had been: if he'd been wrong about one thing, what else was he wrong about that he didn't know?

Amy took pity on him, as she always did, and hugged him again. "Sheldon, you . . . you couldn't have known—"

Sheldon stiffened angrily and broke free of the hug. "Oh, so now we're descending to cheap personal insults, are we?" he barked. "'I couldn't have known'," he repeated in a tone of deep disgust. "I darn well _could_ have known, structure of space-time's my lifelong stomping grounds, and I _would_ have known too once it occurred to me to ask, sooner or later . . . ." Arms folded, he stalked off stiffly up the driveway towards the hospital, looking like an angry stick insect. Amy stared after him.

Penny held her hand out to Amy. "Want the super-strength back, so you can punch him through a wall?"

"No," said Amy, after a pause long enough to make Penny think she'd seriously considered it. "No, he's just upset that he made a mistake, and especially that it hurt me. He'll admit as much, later, once he gets over it."

"Yeah, well, if he wants practice getting over things, I know a few walls you could throw him over."

"I'll keep that in mind." Amy smiled. She looked around at the street, and the cityscape of Pasadena beyond. "Home again, home again, jiggety jig . . . ." She bit her lip. "Penny, I'm so sorry about your wedding."

"Wedding? Oh. Right. That." Penny blinked, amazed at herself; so much had happened that she had actually forgotten why they'd all gone to Vegas in the first place. She waved a hand. "Look, it's okay, I'm just relieved we're all still alive, right? I mean—" She rubbed the ring of bruises where Sammy had nearly strangled her. "It could have been a lot worse, and we can always try again, and . . . and probably I can get another dress, once Leonard's back to normal, if he—I mean _when_ he gets better—I mean—I—" Why was her throat suddenly so thick? Her eyes burned; she swiped at them. "It's just a stupid ceremony we can do any time. And I've got you . . . ." Amy's form was blurring in front of her eyes. "I know I can always count on you to be my maid of hon-hon- _honourrrrr_ . . . ." Her voice cracked and dissolved completely. Before she knew it she was in Amy's arms, weeping helplessly on her shoulder, even harder than she'd wept on Glenn's. "Oh, God, Amy, we just wanted to get _married_ . . . ."

Amy held her silently and let her cry, rubbing her back between her shoulder blades.


	18. Chapter 18

THE METAHUMAN TRANSFIGURATION

 **Description:** The gang gets superpowers. It's not as cool as some of them always thought. Alternate Season 9 premiere.

 **Notes:** This particular update delay I blame firmly on authors **allanjay** and **Arya's prayers** , the former for distracting me with "The Command Performance", and the latter for writing a close-to-500K CHUCK fanfic that sucked me in like a black hole (astute readers may just possibly have noticed that I like long stories). Hopefully this is reassurance to everyone that I do plan to keep pounding away. For those interested in my head-casting, as before, Breanna Locke is played (in my brain) by Viola Davis, Senator Richard Thorpe by Kelsey Grammer of _Frasier_ and _Boss_ , and Jerome Belasco by Kevin Chapman from _Person of Interest_. My research has not found whatever Amy's actual address is beyond stating that her apartment is in Glendale and that it's number #314, so I have made up the rest and do not expect it to match canon if ever established.

 **Warning:** For the purposes of this story, I have deliberately made a critical assumption about a key part of Sheldon's personality and backstory that both diverges from canon and might, in theory, be taken as an Unfortunate Implication (to use the TVTropes term). In order to get my disclaimers up front without spoiling the story, I have added an Author's Note to the end, but for now please note that my development of Sheldon in this story is solely for the purposes of _this story—_ it is _not_ proposed as something consistent with the canon character, or as plausible or relevant to any character and story but this single tale.

 **Disclaimer:** The author does not own THE BIG BANG THEORY or any of the characters.

\- 18 -

HUNTINGTON MEMORIAL HOSPITAL, PASADENA, CA

FRIDAY, AUGUST 28, 2015, 11:40 P.M.

The horribleness of waking up soaked in a pool of her own blood aside, Bernadette didn't normally think of herself as a squeamish person, at least when it came to medical work: she liked needles no more than anybody else but was perfectly capable of both enduring and watching them calmly, she wasn't nauseated at all by the sight of blood (a fact she had occasionally used to amused advantage over the considerably-less-robust Howard), and thought nothing of handling deadly pathogens once she'd put basic safety precautions in place (though she _had_ gotten more careful about that since the raccoon virus incident). But watching the nurses sliding the needles into the comatose Sammy—one for an I.V., one for a steady-drip sedative designed to keep him unconscious—and attaching the electrodes and sensors intended to monitor him, she couldn't fend off a chill.

It wasn't that the nurses were clumsy or sadistic, far from it; if anything, it was the opposite—the sheer, businesslike indifference, the nonchalant competence, with which they went about trapping a man inside his own body—that creeped her out. She thought of what must have happened when they were first rescued from the collapsed Boer Laboratory building: carried and stripped by strangers, sized up by dispassionate eyes whose only concern was answers, turned into as helpless a specimen as anything in one of her own petri dishes. On one level, Bernadette knew, that wasn't quite fair: what should one ask for in a medical professional, after all, if not detached professionalism? But it was different when you knew that the procedures were not being carried out for the benefit of the patient . . . when you knew that this was an act of imprisonment, not healing.

People who'd dedicated their lives to helping others, she couldn't help thinking, shouldn't have accepted this sort of thing so blithely.

 _Oh yeah?_ said a darker part of her, the ruthless part she'd never liked much but which had always come inevitably to the forefront whenever anything triggered her fighting reflexes. _You were the one who kept this guy in a coma until you got here—hell, you're still doing it now, honeypants._ She'd never liked that endearment either, but she'd developed a sort of grudging affection for the way Howard liked to tease her with it. _Not to mention the person who nearly murdered a guy with an induced heart attack. Where do you get off judging what other people should or shouldn't do, when it's everybody's safety on the line?_

She shook her head. No, she refused to feel guilty about Rozokov's thug. Sean would have used and butchered her for his own pleasure if she hadn't forestalled him by cutting her own throat first—an act she still couldn't quite believe she'd done, in hindsight; it made her skin feel cold even now to think about it. And even if it had taken Sheldon, of all people, to bring her back to herself, in the end she _had_ taken the higher road: she'd let Sean live. When the Vegas cops got around to getting Rozokov, Sean and Pyotr out of the time-pocket under the Camelot, she was going to make damn sure Sean went to jail, she decided grimly, even if she had to reproduce the fricking neck wound live for the jury herself.

"Dr. Rostenkowski?" She snapped out of her haze, blinking at the nurse who'd addressed her, a tall kind-faced young man. He indicated the monitors, now all in operation, with the primary cardiac screen showing a steady, slow _beep, beep, beep_. Sammy's face was placid in unconsciousness; his chest rose and fell in deep, even breaths. "We've got him stabilized. Whatever you were, uh, doing, I think you can ease back now."

Bernadette nodded. She'd been holding Sammy's brain in an unconscious delta-wave state since they'd pulled him out of the SWAT van, though in truth it had barely felt necessary; after that final healing the man had been so exhausted he'd passed out all on his own. If she read the feel of his metabolism right, he'd have easily slept another seven to eight hours without help. But nobody had felt like taking any chances, and she couldn't really blame them. She closed her eyes and released the hold.

It might have felt effortless, but it must have taken more exertion than she'd realized. To her own surprise she suddenly found herself swaying on her feet, as if all the fatigue she would normally have accumulated over the evening had suddenly crashed down on her all at once. The kind-faced nurse evidently spotted her wavery balance, for he put a hand on her shoulder to steady her. "You okay, Doc? You need to sit down?"

 _Doc?_ She wanted to laugh. Not even Howard called her that. "No, no. Thank you. I'll be all right." She considered calling up her power to quash the fatigue once more, but thought better of it. She'd already pushed herself beyond the limits of what she'd thought possible, and wasn't keen on finding out where they really lay right now. Maybe Raj had been right, she thought muzzily. She should be more careful. She blinked herself back to focus by force of will alone. "What's going to happen to him?"

"This guy? Sammy?" The nurse sighed. "That's . . . above my pay grade. But the FBI's already put men outside this door, and they'll be stationing men inside as well, so . . . I don't know," he finished at last.

Bernadette nodded. She'd expected as much. "Okay, then. Um—can you tell me how to get to Room 814? Dr. Foxworth said he'd wait there with my husband, and the rest of my friends." Truth told, it was Sheldon she particularly wanted to see, though she would never have ever believed that could be true; right now, she just wanted to be back in her own house with her husband, and Sheldon was the fastest means to that end. Grateful as she was for the police jacket she wore, it was making her skin crawl. She wanted a bath and her own bed.

The nurse frowned. "814? You sure?" He held up his hands at her exasperated look. "I only ask 'cause that's one of the rooms the FBI's sorta commandeered, while they're here . . . they've been pretty anal about nobody going in those areas who isn't supposed to."

"Really." Tired as she was, Bernadette's brain still worked fast. She reached for her pocket, then remembered with a grimace that she'd still never gotten her phone back. She gave the nurse her best helpless puppy-dog eyes. "You wouldn't happen to have a phone on you, would you?" she said as sweetly as she could. "Or be willing to let me borrow it? I just need to make a local call . . . ."

Fortunately, the nurse had, and was. Bernadette had to look up several numbers online before she found the one she thought she wanted; she'd been given the number yesterday but had stuffed the card in her purse and forgotten about it. If she was right, the person she wanted to reach would have set up call forwarding anyway, and even if she got no answer—it was, after all, nearly midnight—even a message would kick certain wheels into motion . . . .

The ringing cut off; there came a series of clicks and tocks; then the line rang again, and within two rings a voice she recognized answered. Bernadette sighed in relief. "Hi," she said. "It's Dr. Rostenkowski-Wolowitz. We're back in town. And I think we could use some help."

ROOM 814, EIGHTH FLOOR, HUNTINGTON MEMORIAL HOSPITAL

11:54 P.M.

The last time Lucy had seen this part of Huntington Memorial, two days ago, she'd been an insubstantial, invisible spectre, looking at it through the eerie negative vision of her phased-out state. And it had also been the place where she'd found Emily in an ICU chamber, and been the first to see her wake as . . . something very different from what she'd been. She hadn't seen what Emily had done, but she'd heard the beginnings of it, while fleeing: screams; gunfire; useless orders shouted in panic. Walking through the corridors now in full, tangible view with Glenn, Howard, Raj, and a couple of clearly exhausted FBI agents, she was startled at how mundane it suddenly seemed—just another quiet night in the hospital, with the peculiar hushed stillness all such places took on after visiting hours.

But Lucy had always paid more attention to her surroundings than people realized, and she couldn't miss the fact that though the hospital staff had clearly done their best, not everything had been quite restored to its normal pristine state. There were still brownish stains at the base of the walls, here and there. A pile of broken equipment—gurneys, IV stands, transport carts—had been shoved into the corner of a small end corridor, out of the main passageways. At least one room they passed had a door missing, broken hinges showing where it had been torn off. The tension between the green-scrubbed government personnel and the blue-scrubbed Huntington doctors was still very clearly in effect, even though all of them looked equally frazzled and worn. Far more of the ICU units seemed occupied than anyone would wish. And in multiple places, small black holes, or the rough white dots of fresh spackle, dotted the walls.

Room 814 turned out to be a boardroom, positioned at one end of the building; three of its walls were almost entirely transparent glass, through which Pasadena's nightscape of streetlights and buildings could be seen. Like the room Lucy had seen downstairs, it was half-filled with tables on which laptops, phones and bankers' boxes of files had been set up, and locked gunmetal-green filing cabinets had been wheeled into the corners. The FBI agents sitting with them now had taken seats at one of those tables, and didn't seem to care what they did as long as none of them went near the bank of laptops. For her part, Lucy had been perfectly happy to grab one of the executive chairs around the main table, wheel it over to one of the window-walls and sit right against the glass, leaning her shoulder and the side of her head against its cool hardness. A minute later, after dumping his body-armour vest on the table, Raj had put a chair of his own beside hers and joined her. He had chosen to sit facing outwards so he could watch the city, but within a minute his hand had crept out to take hers. She held onto it firmly.

God, she was tired. But somehow she had no temptation to close her eyes and sleep. Some deep part of her, the part that remembered every sucker-punch of disappointment she'd ever had, refused to let go of her wariness. If something went wrong, she had a terrible feeling it would happen now, right when everybody thought it was over, and safe, and done. Because that was always when things _did_ go wrong.

Glenn was tapping briskly away on his phone. Howard had dumped his vest and all his gadgetry onto the boardroom table in a clatter of metal and plastic, and paced now from one side of the room to the other, rubbing his face with both hands. The swollen bruise from Joe's punch had subsided a little, but was still lividly clear and visible; his auto-massage lightened to his fingertips alone when his hands passed over it. At last he, too, ran out of energy and let himself drop into one of the chairs. His eyebrows went up and he looked down at it. "Holy Moses," he said, wonderingly. "This might be the most comfortable chair I've ever sat in. Hey, Raj, why don't CalTech's boardrooms have chairs like these?"

"Oh. Um, a few of them do, actually," said Raj. "President Siebert met with me in one, back when _People_ Magazine was making a big deal about me discovering that little planetoid out beyond the Kuiper Belt. You just probably never did anything important enough to get invited to one . . . ." At Howard's expression, Raj's voice trailed off and his face fell. Then he winced and he put his hand to his head as if a sudden headache had pierced it. "If it helps, dude, I now know exactly how annoyed you are."

"Sorry." Howard closed his eyes and sighed. "I'm just tired." He sat quietly for a few moments, then suddenly burst out, "I went to _space_ , you know! _That_ wasn't important? I mean, come on!"

"Well, Mr. Wolowitz, think of it this way," said Glenn, looking up from his phone. "If your antigravity flying devices there can be built on an industrial scale, you'll have blown open the global space industry worldwide. Now _everybody_ will be able to go to space who wants to."

Howard blinked, sat back looking quizzical a moment, then frowned. Raj rolled his eyes. "Oh, for Krishna's sake, dude, what's the problem _now?_ Being the next Elon Musk isn't enough for you?"

"It's not that, it's just . . . ." Howard grimaced and hunched down a little, looking both embarrassed and annoyed. Finally he let out a breath. "Look, Raj, maybe this is just me being a petty schmuck, but . . . becoming an astronaut was literally _the_ coolest thing I ever did in my life. Okay," he amended after a moment, "maybe second coolest, after getting Bernadette to marry me. It's like being a member of the ultimate exclusive club—less than six hundred people out of eight billion, in the history of the entire planet, have ever seen the Earth from space." He lifted his hands and let them fall. "But if people like Barry Kripke can buy an economy ticket to orbit for the same price as a transatlantic flight, it kinda takes a lot of the cool factor out of it."

Glenn snorted and put his phone down. "Well, Mr. Wolowitz, you're correct on one thing: You _are_ being a petty schmuck." Before Howard could react with more than an indignant look, he went on, "But as it happens, I've interviewed Dr. Kripke, and I can appreciate how his presence tends to, shall we say, reduce the ambient refinement level in anything. It may amuse you to know that since he woke up two days ago, he's already gotten a WHAMMO on his medical chart."

"'WHAMMO'?" Lucy found herself asking.

"Ah. That's one of those informal acronyms that makes its way into medical jargon," Glenn explained. "Like GOMER, which means 'Get Out of My Emergency Room', or ATFO, which means 'Asked to', ah, well, 'Fork Off', if you get my meaning." To her own surprise, Lucy giggled. Glenn grinned at her. "As for WHAMMO, well, that stands for 'Wandering Hands Means Men Only'. It's used for male patients who, er, have trouble grasping professional boundaries with the female personnel."

Howard suddenly looked pale and visibly gulped. Raj glanced at him, then flicked his eyes back to Lucy and made a curious face. It took her a second to realize that he was trying hard to stifle laughter, and another second to realize why—evidently Howard hadn't always had a firm grasp on those boundaries himself. _Probably trying to firmly grasp other things,_ Lucy told herself, choking back her own snickers at the thought.

The door opened, and one of the FBI agents standing guard outside waved Sheldon, Amy and Penny in, then closed the door firmly behind them. Raj jumped up and went to hug all three of them, which Penny returned firmly, Amy a little uncomfortably and Sheldon not at all—the taller man simply teleported five feet straight backwards with an offput expression, reappearing with his hands held up defensively. In the corner, the two agents at their worktable literally jumped in their seats at the sight. Raj only frowned. "Dude, what the hell?"

Sheldon shook his head. "I'm sorry, Raj, but the crisis appears to have passed, so I don't think we should be prioritizing emotional expression over hygenic safety any more. If a reassuring hug is that important to you I'm sure it can wait until you've had a chance to shower and change your clothes." He went to the boardroom table and sat down, leaning back and folding his arms.

Howard frowned. "Who peed in _his_ cornflakes?" he asked Amy, with a jerk of his thumb over his shoulder at Sheldon.

Penny sighed. "He made some kind of mistake shutting down his . . . whooshy-gateway thing—" she gestured aimlessly "—after everybody drove through it, and you know what he's like when he makes mistakes. To make matters worse, it hurt Amy, somehow." She gave her friend a worried look. In the boardroom's bright light it only emphasized the sore redness around her eyes.

Raj's eyebrows shot up. "Oh my God, Amy, are you okay?"

"I'm fine, I'm fine," said Amy, holding up her hands as if to fend Raj off. "It was a temporary negative feedback, nothing more. I'm sure we'll be able to correct for it next time."

That did get Sheldon to look around. "'Next time'?" he repeated. "Oh, no, Little Miss Copycat, we are not risking that again, not until I'm one hundred percent sure what happened and how to fix it."

Amy blew out a breath though a clenched jaw. "Sheldon," she gritted, "how do you propose to figure out what did happen unless I assist you with further experimentation?"

"Oh, now you sound like Leonard." Sheldon waved a dismissive hand. "As if practical empiricism was the only way to know anything for sure. All I have to do is run the numbers on the space-time manifold, Amy. Once I have everything written down, once I see how the numbers add up, I'll know what to do. Your help is not required."

"Oh, sure," Amy said, tight-lipped. "As long as you don't misread square metres for square centimetres on a conversion table again."

Sheldon's mouth fell open as he stared at her. What he would have said, if anything, Lucy would never know; Raj gave a sudden pained moan and stepped back, his hands to his head. From the chagrined looks on their faces, both Sheldon and Amy clearly realized what had happened. Sheldon huffed and stalked away to a far corner of the room, leaning against the wall with his arms folded as if to shut everything else out. Amy dashed to Raj and grabbed his arm, looking apologetic—then jerked back, wringing her hand as if Raj had shocked her. Lucy bit her lip, got up, went to Raj's side and took his hand. At the contact, she felt him relax.

The door opened again; Howard whirled around with a hopeful look, but his face fell when instead of Bernadette, another group of dark-suited men strode in, all with earpieces and wrist mikes. They quickly checked all corners of the room, exchanging low-voiced mutters with the FBI agents in the corner, then took up positions around the room's exterior like sentries. The leader snapped, "Clear," into his wrist mike, then opened the door.

In contrast to the sharply professional look of the men standing around the room, the two men who entered both looked like they were running short of sleep; though the taller one wore a brown three-piece suit perfectly cut to his broad-shouldered frame, the jacket hung open, the vest was half undone and the dark green tie dangled loosely from his unbuttoned collar. The shorter one, who was fat and had a hangdog jowly face, hadn't made even that nod to formality; he wore corduroy pants, a sports coat and a stained plaid shirt. He threw himself into one of the seats at the main table as the tall man came over to stand in front of Penny, looking her up and down like a sergeant sizing up a soldier he hadn't expected to volunteer. Penny scowled and glared back, but the clenched hand at the collar of her T-shirt betrayed her nervousness. Glenn sat up, staring at the tall man with a look of recognition and what, Lucy thought in sudden worry, seemed alarmingly close to dismay.

"I understand they're calling you the Angel," said the tall man. Close up, he was handsome in a square-jawed, high-forehead way; his voice was rich and theatrically deep. "And that we have you to thank for helping to shut down that thing in Las Vegas." He offered his hand. "Richard Thorpe. It's an honour and a pleasure to meet you, Ms. Carmichaels."

Howard, who'd been frowning at the guy, snapped his fingers. "Oh my God, of course, that's how I know you! _Senator_ Thorpe!"

Penny stared at him. "What? Senator?!"

Thorpe cast a droll look at the stocky man in the sports coat. "And you didn't think _any_ of them would recognize me, Jerome."

"Hey, he still didn't remember your name until you said it," said the stocky man in a gravelly voice. "I think my point stands."

"Jerome has a poor opinion of the civic engagement of most people in your generation," Thorpe explained to Penny, who managed an awkward smile in return. She never had shaken his hand, but with politician's aplomb Thorpe was affecting not to notice. He turned, went to the main table and took a seat of his own near its head. "Would you folks like to grab a chair? I think I can put in an order to rustle up some coffee, if anyone would like some."

"Oh, I'd counsel against that," said Sheldon. He came over to the table but with a rather deliberate haughtiness made no move to sit down. "Caffeine at this hour will only further disrupt the sleep cycle, and its effect on cognition is far more likely to impair it than enhance it."

"Speak for yourself, bubeleh," Howard shot back. He wheeled his chair back to the table and dropped into it. "I'll take something as hot and caffeinated as you can get."

Thorpe nodded, gestured one of the agents over and spoke to him in a low voice, then turned back to the group, gesturing them inwards. One by one, they found seats; even Sheldon, at last, sat down when Amy glared him into it. Thorpe leant forward and clasped his hands. "I don't think it'll come as any shock to any of you that the United States Government wants in on managing the metahuman phenomenon," he said. "We recognize that our first moves in that direction may have, well, overshot the mark—"

"You tried to lock us all up," said Penny bluntly.

"And from the sounds of it, some of the—what did you call us?—Primaries still _are_ locked up," Raj chimed in. "At least according to Dr. Foxworth, who tells us Dr. Barry Kripke is still here, quite possibly involuntarily."

"I see," said Thorpe somberly. "Your upset is understandable. Is Dr. Kripke a close personal friend?"

That took the wind out of everybody's sails. Sheldon, Raj and Howard exchanged awkward glances, clearly trying to think of the right words. "He's . . . a colleague," Howard said at last.

"A _respected_ colleague," Penny suggested hopefully. Her face fell as Sheldon, Raj and Howard all made uncomfortable hemming and hawing noises.

"He has a WHAMMO on his medical charts," said Lucy.

Thorpe frowned. "Is that bad?"

"Only for the female nurses," said Glenn dryly.

The stocky man, Jerome, knocked sharply on the table. "Can we get back to the subject at hand, please?" he demanded. "The upshot is, we're in the process of deploying a federal agency to serve as a clearinghouse, employer and coordinator for metahuman talents and research across the States. We'd like the most famous," he nodded to Penny, "and at this point most powerful metahumans known, to help us get it up and running by publicly joining."

Raj looked askance at Jerome with a frown. "It's not going to be called 'S.H.I.E.L.D.', is it?"

"What? No. No, we have a name already, it's just classified right now. The point is this." Jerome leant back in his chair and let out a long, exhausted sigh. "Based on our preliminary estimates, in the United States alone there could be as many as twelve to thirteen _million_ people who either developed metahuman abilities after exposure to the Power Pulse, or are going to manifest those abilities within the next month. The majority of those are probably not going to be strong enough to be worth worrying about. But some of them are, and some of those may well have interests hostile to the people and the security of the United States. If we want to exercise any kind of civic restraint against hostile or criminal metahumans, it's pretty clear we're going to need _friendly_ metahumans on our side."

Thorpe nodded. "Special Agent Belasco here is going to transfer from the Secret Service, and will be taking the position of Director for this agency. I'm going to serve as liaison with Congress and overseer for the Federal executive branch. And we're inviting you, Ms. Carmichaels—all of you—to join us." He leant back, then swept his hand around the room, encompassing all of them; his voice deepened. "You're in a position to make a real difference, for the future of those with abilities like you, and for all of us. To serve your country, and the world, in a way that only you can. You've already shown that you can be heroes when you need to be. Now you can be the heroes that the rest of us need." He held out his hand.

Lucy gulped and looked at Raj, who seemed equally gobsmacked. She wasn't sure what she found more flabbergasting—the idea that there could be, or soon would be, literally _millions_ of people out there now with abilities like theirs, or the idea that _she_ was one of the people being asked to step up and lead the way for those people. She was a web designer from Pasadena with crippling anxiety issues, for God's sake! What the hell did she know about leading people in anything? Much less about how to live with having superpowers? And how in God's name was she supposed to handle a job where she had to deal with strangers face-to-face, anyway?

Penny's expression seemed equally dazed. "Ummmm . . . ." she finally got out. "Wow. Gosh. Uh, thanks. But . . . I have to say, I'm not 100% sure I want to work for the people who tried to arrest me and my friends twice in the last two days."

She sat up, her resolve visibly strengthening. "I mean, okay, I haven't read all the comics that these guys have, but I keep hearing about all the stories where the government—uh, that's _you_ guys, just to be clear—" She pointed at Belasco and Thorpe. "—where the government uses exactly the sort of system you're talking about to register everybody so it's easy to track us all down, once they decide we're more trouble than we're worth. Plus, if we're on your payroll, doesn't that kinda mean you'd expect us to obey your orders? 'Cause I gotta tell you, obedience was never high on my list of strengths."

"It's true," Amy interjected. "The only thing she ever decided about her wedding vows so far was that she didn't want the words 'honour and obey' in them."

Penny gave her a sour look. "The point is," she resumed, "I'm not gonna say yes to this without knowing exactly what's involved. And it's for damn sure I'm not gonna say yes unless Leonard's in too. Can we maybe pick this up once he's awake and I'm sure he's okay?"

"I think I have to agree with my colleague, Mr. Belasco," said Sheldon unexpectedly. His eyes met Penny's, and he gave her a stiff nod; Penny looked surprised at the gesture of respect, then blushed. "Dr. Hofstadter assisted me in designing the experiment that created meta-abilities in the first place. I don't see any way we can discuss things productively without his input." He looked around. "Howard, Raj, Amy—you would agree with that, I think?"

One by one, the others nodded. Thorpe absorbed that with no change of expression. "I appreciate your caution," he said at length. "In any other context I'd applaud you for it. But . . . Dr. Hofstadter is currently unconscious in this hospital. And we have _no_ knowledge of when he's going to wake up. Or, indeed, _if_ he is going to wake up—with apologies, my dear," he said with an inclined head to Penny, who looked furious. "The quicker you get in on this opportunity, my friends, the more effect you'll be able to have on how it shapes up. Do you really think reluctance, or resistance, is the most productive choice right now?"

Penny looked even angrier. "Was that a _threat?_ " she demanded shrilly.

"Sure sounded like one to me," said Glenn, in a too-casual tone.

Belasco snorted. "Miss Carmichaels, when we make threats, you'll know it. That wasn't anything but a statement of reality. However powerful you guys are, choosing to be on the wrong side of the law's never a good idea. Metahumans are gonna have to live by rules, like the rest of us. Now you can have a voice in figuring out what those rules are . . . or you can give that voice up to somebody else. We got no contracts to sign here, guys. We just want to know. Are you in? Or out?"

Penny was still clearly infuriated, but as her eyes flicked from Belasco to Thorpe, it was clear she had no idea how to answer. Lucy couldn't blame her. She had none herself.

From outside, there came several crumpling thuds that sounded like sacks of potatoes hitting the floor. All the agents standing sentry around the room stiffened, turning to face the door, and several of them half-drew their weapons. The leader triggered his wrist mike. "D'Agostino, report. D'Agostino!"

"Agent D'Agostino isn't awake right now," came a voice through the slit between the double doors; a smoky contralto voice as powerful in its own way as Thorpe's, though less booming. "Neither are his two colleagues—I apologize, but it seemed quicker to temporarily sideline them rather than waste time haggling for permission. Richard, I know you're in there. Your agents are perfectly all right. Would you mind letting us in?"

Thorpe grimaced. "Ah, God." He looked at Belasco. "Can we legally throw her off the roof?"

The voice outside answered before Belasco could. "In five minutes, Richard, if you let me in, you won't want to."

Belasco's eyebrows went up. At last Thorpe sighed and waved wordlessly at the door. The Secret Service agents exchanged dubious looks but complied, opening it. Breanna Locke strode in, Bernadette trotting hastily at her side; behind them, before the doors swung closed again, Lucy could see the agents who'd been on guard outside, now sitting glaze-eyed and crumpled against the door frame much the same way Rozokov and his thugs had collapsed under the Camelot. If he likewise noticed, Howard didn't acknowledge it at all, only hurrying round the table to catch Bernadette up in another tight embrace. Bernadette let herself fold into his arms with a sigh. "Oh, Howie, it's so much nicer to hug you when you're not wearing body armour," she murmured.

"And this would be Dr. Rostenkowski-Wolowitz," said Thorpe, in the tone of one stating something he already knew. "Two questions for you, Doctor: one, what did you do to my security staff? And two, how the heck do you fit all that on your office door name-plate?"

"Oh. I cheat," said Bernadette, relaxing enough to turn but not stepping out of Howard's arms. "I just use the first initial 'B.' on my door. And I let people I like get away with calling me 'Dr. R-Dub'."

"R-Dub," repeated Raj, with a thoughtful look. "Hey, Bernadette, that could totally be your DJ name if you ever felt like changing careers."

"I actually tried once, in high school," said Bernadette. "Didn't work out. I didn't have enough arm's reach to handle more than one turntable at a time." She looked back at Thorpe. "And to answer your first question, I put your agents into a delta-wave state very similar to deep sleep. Physically they're perfectly fine."

"And before you start talking about assault charges, Richard," Locke interrupted, "bear in mind that you have absolutely no way to prove my client did anything to anybody, barring her statement just now, which I can easily get excluded under the Fifth Amendment. Why don't we let this slide for the moment, and get own to what we're really talking about here?"

Thorpe sighed. "And that would be, Breanna?"

"The only thing worth talking about, of course," said Locke, sitting down and completely ignoring the Secret Service agents glaring at her. "Power." She put her briefcase on the tabletop beside her, opened it, and brought out a laptop which she flipped open in turn. "And the fact that my clients are not prepared to submit to yours just because _you_ tell them it makes most sense."

"So instead they're gonna submit to Latham Industries' power?" Belasco snorted. "Yeah, 'cause that's all kinds of a better deal right there."

Locke gave a tight, close-lipped smile. "Well, financially, it certainly could be. My clients wouldn't have the interest or aptitude to acquire all the, well, unofficial compensations that Mr. Thorpe and his colleagues can take advantage of."

"Hold it, hold it, _hold it,_ " said Penny, raising her hands. "We're not interested in submitting to _anybody's_ power, not beyond what the law says we have to and what we _choose_ to do. We want to help, we want to do the right thing, but _we_ want the input into that." She looked at Locke. "Suppose we wanted to be, like, I don't know . . . ." She snapped her fingers in inspiration. "Freelance consultants, or something like that. Something where we would work _with_ the government as we needed to but we didn't have to work _for_ the government, unless some of us wanted to. How could we set that up?"

Locke nodded slowly, looking impressed. "That's actually not far from what I was going to suggest. The paperwork I've brought is the standard boilerplate for setting up an independent-contractor corporation, which would be created as its own business; the Senator here could then see about giving it a 'favoured contractor' designation in Congress . . . ."

"And this new company, not coincidentally," said Bernadette, her voice abruptly a lot sharper and harder, "would be a partially-owned subsidiary of Latham Industries, wouldn't it? Probably with a controlling ownership percentage?" She let go of Howard, strode to the table and dropped down, glaring at Locke. "And right of first refusal on patent ownership for any kind of technological or scientific innovation thereby created, too, I'm betting." She folded her arms. "I asked you in here to keep them from eating us alive, Ms. Locke. I'm not going to let you do the same thing."

"Uh—yeah," chimed in Howard, taking a seat beside Bernadette. "What she said."

Locke returned Bernadette's glower, then glanced at Thorpe, who gave a very slight grin. She sighed. "This is going to be a very detailed and time-consuming exercise, Dr. Rostenkowski."

Deliberately, Bernadette put her hand on Howard's. "That's Dr. Rostenkowski- _Wolowitz_ ," she enunciated. Howard blinked at her, and a delighted smile grew on his face. "And I can stay awake and alert all night if I have to, Ms. Locke, Senator. Fringe benefit of enhanced regeneration. Now let's quit jabbering around and get down to business." She looked over at Penny. "But she's right, this is gonna take a long time and be very boring. If you wanted to get out of here and go back home, you could."

Penny shook her head. "I'm going back downstairs to wait in Leonard's room. I want to be the first thing he sees when he wakes up." She looked at Sheldon. "What about you, Sheldon? You want to chime in? Contract negotiations—just your favourite thing ever."

"Oh." Sheldon blinked, seeming to come out of a daze. "I wasn't aware you were soliciting my input."

Penny smirked. "We weren't, but since when has that ever stopped you?"

"Well now." Sheldon looked pleased. "It has been a while since I've had the opportunity to get into a good wrangle over legal terminology . . . ." He was already half on his feet as if to move around the table to where Locke was sitting. Then he stopped, blinking, as if something had just occurred to him, and looked at Amy, who had slumped down in her chair and looked more than half-asleep. Her hair straggled limply down over her face.

A bemused expression came over his face. He slowly sat back down. "But—I think perhaps I should take Amy home first." He pointed at Thorpe. "That's contingent on nobody trying to break down anybody's door and arrest us any more, correct?"

Thorpe nodded. "I think the counterproductiveness of that approach has finally sunk into a few peoples' heads, back in Washington," he said dryly. "Go home, Dr. Cooper. Take Dr. Fowler with you. We'll be in touch." He glanced at Locke and Bernadette. "Assuming I still have my testicles after this negotiation is over, that is."

The corner of Locke's mouth twitched. Bernadette smiled sweetly. Lucy shared a glance of wordless understanding with Raj and raised her hand. "Um—Sheldon? Any chance we could catch a lift too?"

Sheldon sighed. "Well, yes, of course. Lucy, I'll need to get your address and work out the coordinates for a contiguity . . . ." He looked abruptly quizzical. "I wonder if this is how Leonard felt when all of you kept getting him to run driving errands for you?"

"How all of _us_ —?!" began Raj, incensed, but broke off as Lucy raised her hand again. "No," she said. "No, Sheldon, you don't. Just take Raj and me to his place. Please."

Her face felt like it had caught fire as everybody, even Raj, turned to stare at her. But she didn't take her gaze from Sheldon, who alone showed no astonishment, only a calm, curious raised eyebrow, as if to say: _Are you certain?_ She nodded.

Sheldon shrugged. "Very well, then."

235 PARSONS STREET, APARTMENT #314, GLENDALE, CA

SATURDAY, AUGUST 29, 2015, 12:28 A.M.

Sheldon was exercising extra care with his transport, and it paid off in the surreal precision of the result. After opening a contiguity to Raj's apartment and leaving him and Lucy there, he drew his next portal by using Raj's front door; when he opened it, it revealed Amy's own apartment, as if the two units had somehow been built connected face to face with one another. Feeling like she was sleepwalking, or dreaming, or maybe caught in an episode of Sheldon's beloved _Doctor Who_ , Amy walked through the contiguity and into her apartment.

The surreal feeling wasn't coming only from the impossible twists in space and time, however, or the blurriness of the world without her glasses, or even from the sheer fatigue of the day.

She hadn't had the chance to apologize to Raj for what she'd done; she hadn't meant to, and she was fairly certain he didn't even realize what had happened. But when she'd grabbed his arm to calm him down, after realizing the anger between her and Sheldon had overwhelmed his empathic senses, that by-now familiar _zing_ had shot through her. And an instant later, her entire brain had opened up like a flower blossoming in sunlight.

Suddenly the air around her had seemed to come alive, resonating with every sense she had and a few she didn't: ripples of warmth against her skin, subliminal sounds vibrating behind her eardrum, tingles in her nerve endings like the kind she imagined pigeons must feel when navigating by the Earth's magnetic field. And all of it combined into one impossible awareness. She felt Lucy's nervousness like a gnarled knot of ice in her gut; she felt Bernadette's weariness like cold, congealing cement behind the cloak of perky alertness; she felt Penny's burning, jagged fury at the way their competing recruiters were treating them like prize stallions in a horsefair. Against that was the slow-brightening glow of Howard's cautious optimism that somehow this might all work out after all, the mix of worry and reluctant excitement like sour tonic water from Glenn, and the stomach-twisting coil of amazed delight and alarmed self-doubt within Raj as Lucy asked to come home with him. The cool, machinelike purpose of Locke; the ambition, intensity and—weirdly—idealistic hope from Thorpe and Belasco. And from Sheldon . . . .

. . . from Sheldon, almost nothing.

The emotions were there. She could sense them the way one might dimly make out that a conversation was happening at the far end of the room while an industrial-grade air conditioner roared in your ears . . . able to tell their presence, but knowing their meaning was almost impossible. For the first time since she'd known him, it truly came home to her what it must really be like to live with Sheldon's brain: a constant, ongoing thunder of mental activity, ranging from the sublime to the ridiculous but never ceasing, moving at a speed most people couldn't even imagine. More simply to get away from it than for any other reason, she walked blindly towards her bedroom, half-aware of Sheldon querulously asking her something but having no idea what it was.

Her spare glasses were in her bedside drawer, as they always were. Putting them on, the world sprang back into clarity, and she felt her own mood stabilize. She fought back the weight of Sheldon's mind, sitting down on the bed with a deep breath.

"Amy?" For a change, Sheldon sounded uncertain. He had followed her to her bedroom door, but no further, and stood there with his arms folded awkwardly. "Are you all right? Are you still suffering . . . symptoms . . . from the contiguity backlash?"

She shook her head. "No. No, I . . . I accidentally transferred Raj's empathy to myself, back there at the hospital. I've never experienced his power before. It's . . . a little overwhelming."

"Oh." Sheldon's eyebrows went up, then down in an annoyed look. "Well, that's aggravating. Given I'm the closest mind in your perceptions at the moment, that can only mean my emotional control isn't at the level to which I aspire. I'll remove myself from your presence immediately." He nodded.

"No! No, Sheldon, wait. Don't go." Amy reached out, holding out her hand, stopping him as he lifted his hand to begin drawing another gateway. "Please stay with me. I'm, uh . . . I'm in distress, and under the relationship agreement, the Boyfriend must provide support and counsel to the Girlfriend in these circumstances."

"Well, yes, but if it's my presence which is causing you distress, by your own admission . . . ."

Amy wanted to cry or scream, she wasn't sure which; perhaps both. "Sheldon, for heaven's sake, can you stop trying to think this through logically and just . . . be with me? Please?"

At that, something flared through the mind-noise, and Amy caught it almost gratefully: a bright, jagged spike of true, frustrated anger. Sheldon threw up his hands. "I'm sorry, Amy, but how am I supposed to help you when nobody can explain to me how? This doesn't make any _sense!_ How can you want me to stay if it's me who's causing you the distress?" The anger corkscrewed inward, suddenly, letting out an acid spray of pain as it dug back into Sheldon's own mind. "By all rights, given the danger you've been through tonight, you shouldn't want to have anything further to do with me," he muttered. "It was my experiment that brought everything to pass."

Amy fought hard for control. "That . . . yes, that's logical. But it's not what I want. I know it doesn't make any sense, Sheldon. But . . . love doesn't, always."

Sheldon sighed. "Everybody _says_ that," he grumped. "But nobody ever explains it. Sometimes I just wish I could _know_ , the way everybody else claims to . . . ."

And suddenly Amy remembered something that had happened two days ago—the last time she'd seen Sheldon display something that looked like real feeling. She gulped. She didn't want to do what Raj had done then. But maybe . . . maybe there was finally a way to bridge this gap between them. She put her hands in her lap, smoothed down her skirt, then patted the quilt beside her. "Sheldon . . . please come here and sit down. I think—I think I might be able to show you what I mean."

Sheldon's brows lowered in visible suspicion, but after a moment, he came over and joined her on the bed. "If you need a whiteboard to draw diagrams, I can pop back to my apartment for a spare," he offered.

Amy choked back an urge to laugh. "No—no, it's not going to be that kind of demonstration. Please bear with me, I've never done this before." She took his hand and closed her eyes. With a few deep breaths, she did her best to slow her racing heart. She tried to call up, in mind and skin, gut and body, everything Sheldon had made her feel; all the things she'd thought she'd never feel, all the things that at first she'd thought never to need even in Sheldon's friendship. Had it been knowing Penny that had changed things? Meeting Zack? Seeing what Penny and Leonard had, or Howard and Bernadette? She didn't know. All she knew was what she felt now.

And as carefully, as gently as she could, she let it well out of her, radiating forth to envelop Sheldon's mind, that glorious, beautiful mind.

Nothing seemed to happen for several long heartbeats. But slowly Sheldon's eyes widened; his mouth fell open in what she could now tell was only sheer confusion. _Me?_ she could almost hear him asking himself. _She feels all that . . . for_ me? He stared at her as if he'd never seen her before. His hand came up to cup her cheek; she leaned helplessly into the touch, closing her eyes. She didn't need to see his face now.

She could feel his mind moving like the muscles of a high-strung stallion might flex beneath a stroking, gentling hand, impossibly powerful and smooth. She held nothing back, but let it all flow into him, over them both, even the flaws and frustrations. But encompassing and transfiguring them all was that simple, primal, elemental need. _I'm not complete without you any more, Sheldon_ , she thought, knowing he would understand even if the words didn't translate. _It doesn't matter if we hurt one another. Not having you here hurts worse than anything else._ Amy reached out, trying to find the answering echo of need in him—

—and hit something that felt like a glass wall. With a gasp, she recoiled, breaking contact; she opened her eyes and found Sheldon's face less than an inch from hers. He had clearly been leaning in for a kiss that she hadn't even seen. He jerked back, startled. "Amy? Amy, what's wrong?"

"I don't—I don't know," she gasped. Her heart was rabbiting; she pressed her chest with one hand, as if trying to force it to slow down. "I felt—I felt something in your mind . . . ."

"Well, there _is_ a lot in there to feel," said Sheldon, a little smugly.

"No! No, I don't mean like something you were thinking, or feeling, it was—it felt like some kind of barrier, or block."

Sheldon frowned. "You mean like a shield of some kind? Well, that's not so odd. I have a very unique mind; perhaps I have mental defenses even I don't know about."

"No, Sheldon, you don't understand. I don't think this would work to keep things out, not like that; I don't know what it is, I . . . ." Amy trailed off. The thought that had occurred to her made no sense. She didn't even know if it was possible. "Sheldon—may I scan you again?"

For the first time Sheldon looked a little worried. Perhaps he was finally grasping how serious she was. "Yes, all right," he said simply. She put one hand to his face, and suddenly he almost giggled. "Amy—can I ask _you_ something? Can you do it like the Vulcan mind meld?"

Amy rolled her eyes. "Sheldon, for God's sake—!"

"Please?" Sheldon implored. "Please please please? It's the closest I'll ever get to experiencing what it's really like, and I'd really far rather it was you than Raj. For all his professed hatred of Indian food, he still smells a little like coriander. I don't like coriander."

Amy gave in with a sigh. "Fine. Show me how Spock does it again?" She let him adjust her hand's position until he was satisfied, with her thumb on his chin, her index finger above the point between eye and nose, and her middle finger on his eyebrow. "Okay, let's see if I can find this again . . . ."

"Nooooo," said Sheldon, drawing it out. "You have to do it _properly_. Like Spock does. Remember, I showed you in the Classic _Star Trek_ episode 'Mirror, Mirror'? You liked that one because you thought Leonard Nimoy looked hot with a goatee." Then he winced. "Oh. Oh, wow, so _that's_ what it feels like when you're angry . . . Okay, um, well. Never mind."

Amy took a deep breath. An odd impulse of mischief seized her, and she found herself smiling. Deliberately, she made her voice as deep as she could and leant in, their faces almost nose to nose. "My mind—to your mind," she intoned in a husky murmur. "My thoughts—to your thoughts . . . ."

Sheldon broke out in a stunned grin of delight. "Oh, _Amy_ ," he whispered—and without warning he leaned forward and kissed her, hard. His own shock at the impulse and the contact resounded between them like feedback through a speaker. Then all conscious intent was swept away as her own passion ignited and spilled back into him, and for the first time in Sheldon's entire life—she could feel the utter absence of any memory echo in his brain—his body took over. He grabbed her shoulders, clumsily but fiercely, and she snaked her arms around his neck; they fell back onto the bed together, caught up in one another, writhing together in a blind frenzied heat. Amy had forgotten what she was looking for, had forgotten everything. Nothing mattered but the softness of Sheldon's mouth on hers as they opened together, the feel of his body under her hands as she dug frantically to worm her way beneath his shirt, the glorious weight, warmth and pressure of him on top of her as she ground her hips into his . . . .

And then something—snapped. Like a castle portcullis crashing down onto a galloping horse and breaking its back, the glass wall she'd hit in Sheldon's mind sliced with brutal force through the currents of arousal, almost physically knocking them apart. Sheldon jerked back, stunned, the backlash of the disruption spiralling into revulsion; she was still so closely linked that she felt it herself, and it took a few gasping seconds to master it. Mouth agape, Sheldon touched his head as he sat up. "Amy?" he whispered. "Did _you_ do that?"

"No! God, no! Of course not! How could you even—?!" In mid-tirade Amy caught herself, remembering her suspicion, her impossible dread. "Wait. Sheldon . . . now I remember what I wanted to see." She sat up as well, bracing herself for refusal. "I know this is very difficult for you, but—can you remember how you used to feel, about things like coitus? How you still feel when it's anybody but me? Just . . . bring it to mind. For me. So I can see what's happening."

Sheldon nodded, gaining control of himself with a shuddering breath. "All right," he husked. "I don't think it'll surprise you that the concept's still difficult for me . . . ." He closed his eyes, taking one deep breath, then another. Amy could feel his heart rate slow. As delicately as she could, she let her mind open up again, listening through the whir of his brain for the feelings underneath.

And there it was. As he contemplated the subject, she could feel the glass wall coalescing again in his brain—an ancient reflex, deep-set as sequoia roots; a reaction that stifled anything like lust or desire, a built-in killing trap that shattered the impulse before it ever reached the conscious mind and turned it into annoyed, repulsed disdain. She recognized that feeling: she'd shared it, once, before time and curiosity—and Sheldon and Penny, both in their own ways—had made her realize how much of it was only sublimated sour-grapes envy and transferred maternal fear. But this was far deeper, and far more profound. This was beyond any parental browbeating. This was so deeply buried that it had to have been . . . implanted—yes, _implanted_ ; this was not the natural asexuality of those whose neurochemistry simply didn't respond to sexual stimuli like most did, she could somehow tell intuitively that this was an artificial, constructed _program_ —when Sheldon was a child, perhaps even an infant. Maybe even—though she had no idea how this could be possible—before birth.

"Amy?" Sheldon was staring at her, his eyes bright with fear. "What is it?"

Amy moistened her lips, slowly. And then told him. It took her a minute or so, and when she finished, the bedroom was quiet for a long time.

Finally Sheldon broke the silence, his voice even and controlled. "Amy, you realize what this implies, of course. And that it's impossible. But . . . I think if you were lying . . . I would know."

Amy nodded, taking no offense. She wouldn't have wanted to believe it either. "The kind of mental tampering that this seems to be shouldn't have been possible at all before the Power Pulse created meta-abilities," she confirmed. "And if it were, who would tamper with your brain when you were so young? How could they know who you were, or who you'd grow up to be? And if for some reason they felt they had to do this . . . why _this?_ Why not, I don't know, just generally repress your intelligence? Or implant a compulsion to self-destructive behaviour, like addiction? Who would care about your attitude towards intimate relationships?"

"I don't know," said Sheldon meditatively. His emotional aura felt strange, like a roiling cloud of light gradually polarizing into something bright and clear. "But what I do know is that what I thought, all my life, was an independent reasoned judgement about the superiority of rational thought . . . was being influenced, all along, by a programmed reflex I never suspected was there. And I could have lived with that, because honestly, Amy, for the most part, that reflex just matched how I honestly felt about most people." He looked thoughtful. "Leonard's mother Beverly would probably say that's why the reflex became so powerful—because it was working with my natural instincts and not against them."

"That does make sense," admitted Amy. Then she froze. Because Sheldon had put his hand on hers, and the look in his eyes—the feel of his mind—was something she never thought she'd see.

"But whoever did this to me, Amy," Sheldon went on in a low voice, "they did something unforgiveable. Because they made it easy for me to hurt _you_. I'm not," he paused, dropping his eyes, "I'm not putting it all on this thing that seems to be in my head. I'm aware that I am . . . difficult to be with, in many ways. But I might have been less difficult—I might have found being with you easier—if this hadn't been there. It might not have taken me so long to tell you, to understand for myself, that I loved you."

Amy wondered if she'd dropped her glasses again without realizing it. The world seemed to be getting blurry once more. Then wetness spilled down her cheeks. She caught her breath and gulped back the sob. If Raj was any example, losing control of her emotions would only make Sheldon cry, and Sheldon crying was a hassle she really didn't want. "Sheldon . . . ." she husked.

"And I'm not going to let this influence my judgement. Not any more." Sheldon's voice firmed. His hand tightened on hers. "I'm going to review the evidence for myself and decide." He turned to face her, putting his other hand on top of their joined ones. "Amy Farrah Fowler—would you do me the very great honour of assisting me in this experiment, by participating in coitus with me?"

Amy clapped her free hand to her mouth. Her brain seemed to have dissolved. It took everything she had just to hold on to the overwhelming boil of feelings surging up inside her, as if her skin was stretched tight. When words finally came, she almost kicked herself for what they were. "Sheldon . . . are you—are you sure? We don't—we don't _have_ to; it might be safer to wait—to try more tests, first—"

"No." Sheldon shook his head. "No more tests. No more waiting. You're the only person I trust enough to let into my mind—you're the only person who _can_ help me do this. Logically, there is absolutely no reason to defer confronting the problem directly. And . . . I don't want to." His gaze softened. "Amy, if there was one thing I learned from today, it's that none of us can count on tomorrow any more. Penny is sitting in a hospital room tonight desperately hoping and praying that the love of her life will wake up. I don't want to be in a room like that tomorrow, regretting what never happened tonight.

"Help me, Amy Farrah Fowler. You're my only hope."

Amy couldn't hold back the tears any more. She opened her mouth to say _Yes, yes, God, a thousand times yes_ . . . and stopped at the twinkle in his eye. Memory suddenly stirred. Then she caught her breath and hit him hard on the shoulder. "You _bastard!_ " she howled. "That's from _Star Wars!_ "

Sheldon gave his breathless snicker. "Yes, yes it is," he admitted with a bazinga-style grin. "I'm sorry, I really just couldn't resist—" He never finished the sentence. Amy bowled him over, throwing herself on top of him and rolling them to the centre of the bed, half laughing, half weeping. Her mind slid back into his, and his into hers, with effortless smoothness; she cupped his face with her hands and drank his kisses. Prepared for it this time, she caught the glass wall inside his brain as it came sliding down. She didn't attempt to force it open, or break it—that might well cause damage beyond her ability to sense or heal. Instead, she only held it steady, where they could both feel its pressure. Carefully, she found a balance point inside their fused minds, easing her head back from Sheldon to look into his eyes.

Without words, she asked: _Are you sure?_ Without words, he answered, _Yes._

"This . . . may take time," she whispered aloud. And almost burst into tears again at the single word he gave in answer:

"Good."

1:42 A.M.

It did take time. It was not elegant or effortless, or entirely pain-free, for either of them. It was neither graceful, nor visually acrobatic in any way, nor even particularly noisy, though Amy did cry out loudly at several points, and at the end Sheldon's breath shuddered to a choked groan that sounded almost agonized. They lay, at last, entwined together, sweaty and in several places sticky, their breath slowing.

"How do you feel?" Amy finally whispered.

Sheldon frowned at her, though he was still smiling. "You're the empath right now, Dr. Fowler. You should be able to tell."

Amy shook her head, not even annoyed. "I think my neurons are too flooded with endorphins at the moment," she admitted. "There was definitely some empathic feedback going on, though. I think we should probably try this again when I haven't copied Raj's abilities, and see if it works as well."

"Again? Really?" Sheldon's nose crinkled. "We've successfully confirmed that the programmed reflex doesn't physically prevent carnal expression, I don't see the point in repetition—oh." His mouth tightened. "That's the reflex again. Isn't it."

Amy nuzzled his shoulder. "I'm sorry, Sheldon. Look, for what it's worth . . . it's okay just not to have the same sex drive as other people. Honestly, right now, I'm kinda willing to take what I can get."

"Oh, that's just the afterglow endorphins again." Sheldon waved a dismissive hand. "You'd agree to watch a _Battlestar Galactica_ marathon with me right now if I asked you nicely enough."

Amy snorted. "You'd need a lot more afterglow for that, I think."

Sheldon blinked. "Is that a request? I might have to wait a few minutes for my refractory cycle to conclude, but . . . ."

For half a second Amy was strongly tempted, not least because it was the first time Sheldon's relentless literal-mindedness might be redounding in her favour. Then a massive yawn swept across her, and she reconsidered. "No," she said when she finished. "I'm not sure either of us would be up to that. But . . . whenever, if you ever, feel like doing this again—just know you can pretty much count on me saying yes. So don't be afraid to ask. Wherever, whenever."

"Oh, I know. And I won't," said Sheldon blithely. He yawned as well. "I look forward to further research into my brain, Dr. . . . Fowler . . . ." His eyes fluttered closed, and he rolled over, draping one long arm across her shoulders. Amy smiled, snuggled into him, and closed her own eyes.

A second before sleep took her, one last disturbing thought floated into clarity. This _was_ Sheldon Cooper, after all, the man who had no problems discussing his bowel movements in public. _Maybe I shouldn't have said_ wherever, whenever . . . .

. . . but oh hell, who cared?

* * *

 _ **Author's Note:**_ _Following up on my_ _ **Warning**_ _note above, I hope my waffling now makes sense: the idea that Sheldon's comparatively minimal interest in sex is due to actual interference with his mind deep in his past was a plot twist I introduced solely for the sake of an epic adventure story involving our heroes getting superpowers, and as a way to bring Sheldon and Amy together using one particular power as part of their story. This "explanation" of Sheldon's character applies_ only _to_ this _version of him in_ this story _, and should_ not _be taken as any sort of implication about Sheldon in canon or any other story, or about people in real life who share that particular difference of priority in relationships. Nor should it be taken as notice that Sheldon and Amy are about to jump into the kind of sexual shenanigans in which so many M-rated fics indulge—I want to keep this story T-rated, for starters, and I also enjoy very much the unique relationship between the two in the show and want to keep my version as much like that as possible. As always, I write solely for entertainment purposes; any failure to entertain is my fault, and I wish disappointed readers the best of luck in their search for entertainment they like._


	19. Chapter 19

THE METAHUMAN TRANSFIGURATION

 **Description:** The gang gets superpowers. It's not as cool as some of them always thought. Alternate Season 9 premiere.

 **Notes:** Well, after everything I said about delays and writing more quickly, _this_ has to be the single worst example of a writer letting down anybody still masochistic enough to be his fans. Folks, I have no excuse whatsoever for letting this story slide as long as it has (something like six flipping months at this point), other than sheer inertia and the slow realization that I don't have the stamina to write until three in the morning and still get my son out the door to school by eight any more. As the old joke goes, I never believed in writer's block, but apparently it believes in me. To those still following, thank you for waiting, and please feel free to berate me in the comments. (Or if you want to really punish me, just remark, "Oh, had you fallen behind? Hadn't noticed." Extra points for sounding like Jimmy Carr if you can manage it.)

 **Disclaimer:** The author does not own THE BIG BANG THEORY or any of the characters.

\- 19 -

HUNTINGTON MEMORIAL HOSPITAL, PASADENA, CA

SATURDAY, AUGUST 29, 2015, 9:37 A.M.

When Leonard opened his eyes and saw the ceiling of the hospital room again, backlit by morning sunlight spilling past the closed curtains, the déjà vu that swept over him was so powerful as to be almost nauseating. For a long minute, as he blinked up at the ceiling, the images boiling over in his brain seemed like nothing but a fantastic series of dreams.

Surely none of that could really have _happened_. Whatever had gone so catastrophically wrong with the JPL plasma wakefield accelerator (he remembered _that_ clearly enough), it couldn't possibly have somehow caused people all over the world, including his fiancée and his best friends, to gain superpowers—could it? And even if it had, how could that have led to all of them somehow becoming federal fugitives, to the point where a simple day-trip to Vegas for a wedding had turned into a kidnapping and a battle in the streets against cops, criminals and monsters? And the idea that that battle had only finished when he himself had somehow pulled off an impossible feat of telekinesis to save Penny's life at the last moment . . . .

Leonard shook his head firmly. No. No, it wasn't possible, any of it. That sort of thing only happened in comic books, movies and TV shows, and if Leonard knew one thing about himself, he knew there was no conceivable way his life could be interesting enough to make a TV show about. He let out a sigh of relief and looked over at the shelf beside the bed, trying to find his glasses.

They were gone. And he could _see_ that they were gone, with perfect crystal clarity. His eyes widened; memory crashed over him in a wave of fierce and painful cold. "Oh, shit," he breathed.

"Leonard?" He jerked around at the muzzy voice, his body recognizing it with a surge of warm relief even before his mind caught up. In an armchair at the foot of the bed, Penny was blinking awake, squinting as she pushed herself upright. When her eyes met his, her whole face brightened with a relief and joy as powerful as his own; she scrambled to her feet and flung herself on him. He tried to return the embrace with as much strength as he could, which in hindsight was a mistake—she tightened her own grip in response to his, and his ribs creaked in sudden agony. He yelped aloud. Penny let him go as if she'd been scalded. "Oh God! Oh, baby, I'm sorry—are you okay?"

"I'm fine! I'm fine," he coughed, massaging his side and feeling an odd urge to laugh. It was strange—her superstrength hadn't been a problem at all during their shower quickie the other day; maybe the hormones of arousal interfered with whatever neural networks contained the oneirion fields empowering her muscles. _Oneirions_ —yes, Sheldon's name for his theorized ultraparticle, the quantum bit that was as much information concept as space-time event. More and more was coming back to him, and he drew back to size Penny up. Once again, all the tumult she'd gone through had played merry hell on her clothes; her T-shirt and jeans were sweat-stained, dirty, torn and frayed from head to foot, and her hair and skin were smeared with dust. But she herself appeared uninjured. Even the swelling in her eyes from Rozokov's gunshot (oh, God, she'd been _shot!_ In the _eye!_ ) had more or less faded away completely.

Following his gaze, and accurately surmising his thoughts, she shrugged with a half-smile. "You really never are going to stop worrying about me, are you?"

"Hey, you always worry about _me._ Seems only fair."

"Yeah, but you aren't invulnerable." Penny tapped the bandage visible on Leonard's upper arm, just below the edge of his johnny's sleeve. Then she frowned. "Or _are_ you, now? You told me my invulnerability was more like a, whatchacallit, a force field, instead of my skin becoming some super-tough armour. If you can whip around giant metal swords with your brain, maybe you can put up force fields too."

Leonard considered. "Actually, that makes a fair bit of sense. But that's assuming last night wasn't a one-off deal, that I haven't, I don't know, burned myself out or something . . . ."

Penny raised an eyebrow. "Well, you never know 'til you try, right?"

"Tru dat," Leonard admitted with a sheepish smile. Penny laughed. Leonard looked around, then pointed at the window. "Okay, let's see if I can open the drapes. That shouldn't take much force." He levelled his index finger at the control rod that hung from the inside of the curtain, then squinted his eyes and tensed his muscles, trying to recall the indescribable sensation that had fired off inside his brain and spine, that mixed surge of freezing, searing lightning. _Move_ , he mentally told the curtain, twitching his finger slightly in the right direction. _Move. Move. Move_.

The curtain stayed obstinately where it was, its only movement the slight stirrings of the air conditioning system. Leonard concentrated harder. Nothing continued to happen. His jaw clenched, his eyes squeezed almost shut, blurring his vision; his hand quivered and his teeth and temples started to hurt. But not even a single solitary tingle fired off anywhere inside that he could feel. At last he relaxed with a sigh and massaged his forehead. A surprisingly sharp pang of disappointment twisted in his stomach.

Penny bit her lip. "Oh, Leonard, I'm so sorry."

"No, Penny, please, don't be." Leonard took a deep breath, then gripped Penny's hands firmly in his. Disappointment notwithstanding, he knew what really mattered. "If it was only ever going to work once, I'm just grateful it worked when it did last night."

"Well, yeah, me too, right?" Penny agreed. "Considering I'm the one who would've been a pancake if it hadn't." She grinned. "And for what it's worth, that was a _seriously_ awesome moment there. I watched about half a dozen different clips of it on YouTube last night before I fell asleep." She waggled her phone at him.

Leonard blinked. "Wait, what? It's on YouTube already?"

"And Dailymotion, Vimeo, LiveLeak and Metacafe," said Penny, ticking the names off on her fingers. "There's a whole bunch of stuff with me fighting Sammy and Sammy chasing Howard as well. Oh, speaking of which, by the way—" Her smile faded into a sober look. "There's a buttload of things the government people want to talk to us about. First thing being, is there any way to take powers _away_ from somebody once they've activated? 'Cause otherwise the only way to keep people like Sammy confined is to basically put them into a coma, which is like seriously gross." She grimaced and shuddered.

Leonard nodded slowly. There really wasn't a much better way to put that. "I suppose . . . if you could generate another oneirion pulse at an exactly reversed oscillation frequency, it might suppress any standing fields in the exposure area, or even permanently erase them . . . but we'd need to build another accelerator, we'd have to figure out how to control the exposure, and all that's assuming we can figure out what went wrong with the JPL accelerator that caused the Power Pulse in the first place. And it would probably have to be customized to the individual person, which sort of begs the question of their cooperating to begin with—not to mention all the legal issues, since that might well qualify as coercive medical interference . . . ." He trailed off, realizing that Penny's eyes had glazed a little, and poked her arm; she started, then returned his rueful smile. "But all that can wait until we get some coffee, I think," he finished.

"Coffee." Penny closed her eyes, looking as if she'd just smelled something heavenly. "Yes. That is the absolute _best_ idea. I love you, you know that?"

"Yes," said Leonard softly. Something in his voice caught her attention; her mouth opened, and her eyes widened. "Yeah, you know, I really think I do. You came to save my life last night." He lifted one hand to caress her cheek. "And if I saved yours, that means we belong to each other. For good."

Penny's lip trembled and her eyes abruptly looked watery. With a snort, she visibly mastered herself, but couldn't repress a grin. "Well, good. No more insecurities about us, then, ever again. Right?"

"Well . . . I can't make any _promises_ , hon." Leonard decided he couldn't resist the joke, and adopted his best deadpan. "I'm not Superman, you know."

Penny hit her forehead, squeezed her eyes shut in mock pain and made a sound that was half groan, half laugh. "Oh, God, and you were giving _me_ crap for _my_ bad jokes last night?" She grabbed his head and pulled his face to hers, and within seconds Leonard had gladly forgotten about everything but the movements of her mouth and tongue upon his. He pulled her back onto the mattress with him, ignoring the twinges of pain from his arm, their limbs entangling and their hands sliding in beneath fabric to find skin. The wordless sounds they made dropped to a deeper, more urgent register.

Annoyingly, however, one of the things Leonard had forgotten, or perhaps failed to notice in the first place, was the fact that the hospital staff had stuck sensor pads on him again. Without warning, a bedside monitor broke out into a painfully loud and high-pitched beeping, probably triggered by his galloping pulse; he and Penny both yelped and sprang apart, the erotic haze shattered like a dropped champagne flute. As they paused, getting their breath back, the door opened and a nurse, a black woman in her early forties, hurried in.

She stopped dead at the sight of them; then her worried look slid into a wry half-smile. "So I'm guessing I can cancel the Code Blue, then," she deadpanned. She went to the bedside monitor and hit a switch, silencing the alarm. Her name tag read _Althea_. "Unless somethin' else in here is blue enough to need help?"

Penny coughed a giggle into her palm, blushing brightly. It took Leonard a second to understand, but when he did his own face went hot. "Thank you, I think we're fine," he said with as much dignity as he could muster.

"He said . . . stiffly," said Althea. Penny spluttered and laughed even harder. Leonard groaned and covered his face. The nurse smirked. "I'm sorry, Dr. Hofstadter, we're just all glad you're okay."

Leonard blinked at her. "You know me?" Then he frowned. "Wait a minute. Don't I know _you?_ Have we met?"

"Well, _everybody_ knows you now, honey," said Althea. "But we have actually met already, as it happens. It was when I was on duty in Emergency, a few years back; you and your friends came in, and one of 'em had a robot hand stuck grasping his penis."

"Robot hand grasping _what?_ " Penny's eyebrows shot up. "What the hell did Howard do?"

Leonard cleared his throat. "We never said it was Howard . . . ."

"Oh, Leonard, please." Penny waved a hand at him and leant towards the nurse, eyes bright. "Tell me more!" Leonard winced. Grinning, Althea obliged, reducing Penny quickly to a guffawing puddle on the bed. When she finally got her breath back she sat up and smacked Leonard on the arm. "I can't believe you never _told_ me this story!"

Leonard sighed. "Howard asked us not to. He figured you'd never let him live it down, and after he got back together with Bernadette he didn't want you telling _her_ about it."

Penny looked indignant. "For God's sake, doesn't _anybody_ think I can keep a secret?"

"Honey, gonna stop you there," Althea interjected, raising a hand. "That's one of those questions like, 'does my butt look fat in these pants?'—it don't matter what they say, nobody ever really wants an answer." She turned to Leonard. "I just need to check a couple of readings and ask you some health questions, Doc."

"And then I can go home?" said Leonard hopefully.

For the first time, Althea's face lost all trace of humour. Seeing it, Leonard slumped. "That's . . . not really up to me," she said, looking at her clipboard. "I think there's a few more people wanna talk to you. Both of you."

Penny took Leonard's hand firmly. "Yeah, the 'both' goes without saying. So who is it this time? We already had a Senator trying to browbeat us into joining the Justice League. Who's gonna rag on us next? The President? The United Nations?"

Althea cleared her throat. "Well, let's get the paperwork out of the way first . . . ." She checked the machines beside Leonard's bed, ticked some items off on her clipboard, then took Leonard through a standard symptomology check which Leonard answered as precisely and impatiently as he could. Penny squeezed his hand in sympathy. When they were done, Leonard opened his mouth to ask again who the incoming questioners were, but Althea hurriedly exited before he could get the words out.

Leonard exchanged a frown with Penny, then deliberately sat straight upright and straightened the johnny as much as seemed practical. There wasn't much dignity to be had in hospital clothes but he wanted what he could get, if he was going to be talking to truly high-up government officials. Authority figures had always made him nervous, however much he liked to think he'd gotten to the point in his life where he could at least convincingly fake being a mature intelligent adult—

"Hello, Leonard."

The bottom dropped out of Leonard's stomach.

In the doorway stood Dr. Beverly Hofstadter, her arms folded, her burgundy suit jacket draped over them. Her face bore no expression any different from her usual impassive, serenely unimpressed look. But the room suddenly seemed colder than the Arctic cabin six years ago on the night the heat went out, especially as she shifted her eyes slightly. "Hello . . . Penny."

Beside him, he heard Penny, the woman who'd unhesitatingly taken on an inhumanly powerful monster and an entire squadron of riot cops, loudly gulp.

9:41 A.M.

As milestones in sexual development went, it wasn't perhaps the most spectacular, but Lucy clung to it in her memory like a treasure as she sipped her coffee. Last night when she'd curled up with Raj in his bed, they'd made out a little, but hadn't even reached what she was pretty sure was second base before sheer exhaustion had dragged them both into sleep. She'd woken to find him bustling around his kitchen, making breakfast (and the amazing omelet he'd dished up had actually made her wonder aloud why he was an astrophysicist and not a chef, to which he'd given her a smile so smug it really shouldn't have been as endearing as it was). But the milestone was this: For the first time in her entire life that she could remember, upon waking and realizing nothing beyond a certain point had happened, she'd been _disappointed_ , instead of overwhelmingly relieved.

Well, there was still some relief, she had to admit. But it was far less than it had been. Still, if Raj had expected or wanted something more, she might owe him an apology. She cleared her throat and put her coffee mug down. "Raj—"

Raj held up a hand without even looking up at her, his gaze focused on scooping up his last forkful of omelet. "It's perfectly all right, Lucy." He popped the last bite into his mouth, swallowed, then looked at her seriously and took her hand. "Don't feel like you have to apologize for anything. I was wiped out last night too. We can take this as fast or as slow as you want to."

Lucy flushed, half relieved and half irritated. "No fair. How the heck are we going to have meaningful conversations if you know exactly what I'm gonna say all the time?"

"Oh." Raj blinked. "I'm sorry, I just—I could tell you were feeling awkward and apologetic about something, and it didn't take a lot to figure out what it probably was. I'll try not to do that so much."

"No, no, it's okay—well, no, it's not _okay_ , exactly, but—" Lucy blew out a breath and sat still for a moment, trying to organize her thoughts. Finally she looked up at him, summoned a burst of courage, and reached out to take his hand; it was still hard to initiate contact like this, without the adrenaline of crisis or the charge of Raj's own emotions to help overcome all her old aversions. "I know you're still figuring out how to use your powers, Raj, same way I am. And I don't wanna put pressure on you either, specially since you've been so understanding about my . . . my issues. Just—I'm kinda starting to worry about us having a, you know, balanced relationship."

Raj bit his lip. "Lucy—you know I can't actually read minds, right? If you're worried about your privacy, believe me, I'm not going to be able to pick your computer passwords out of your brain or know where any hidden diaries are kept."

"No, I know, but—" She managed to meet his eyes without flinching, though her stomach knotted. "But being able to know exactly what I'm feeling, in an instant, no matter how hard I try to hide it . . . well, you combine that with being as smart as you are to start with, and it strikes me it's pretty darn near the same thing, with a little work. I mean, think about it, Raj." She let go of his hands to gesture emphatically: "I'm never gonna be able to lie to you, even the nice white-lie sort of lies. Nobody is _ever_ going to be able to lie to you again. You'll always know who's keeping a secret from you, even if you can't tell what it is or why. And I had a hard enough time being with you back when _both_ of us were kind of flying blind about it. Now you've got this overwhelming advantage. And I . . . I think I'm gonna need a lot of help getting used to it."

Raj swallowed. His voice was a little rougher than it had been. "Are you, uh, are you _planning_ to lie to me about things, Lucy?"

"No," Lucy said. "No, of course not. But—I'd kinda like to have the option, you know? I've just had to come up with polite fake excuses too many times. How would you feel if it was me with the empathy and you knew you'd never be able to lie to me?"

After a moment, Raj nodded slowly. "Point. Though perhaps I should not have admitted that." He gave a wry smile, which she returned in relief. He leaned forward and took her hand; she let him. "Lucy, have you ever read _The Chrysalids_? By John Wyndham?"

"Uh, no, don't think I have."

"Ah. Well, it's an SF novel set in a post-nuclear war North America, where the only way for towns to survive is to religiously stamp out genetic mutations wherever they occur—in crops, livestock . . . even people. In one of these towns, a small group of children discover they have the power to speak to each other telepathically, and even read normal people's minds to a small degree, so they immediately promise to keep each other's secret with utter loyalty, because they'll all be killed or banished if this is found out. Unfortunately, when the children grow up, one of them, a girl named Anne, decides she wants to marry a normal man, and she vows that she'll cut ties with the other children, never speak of or use her telepathy again, and live like a normal person as best she can—that she'll _pretend_ to be normal, all the way. And her friend David says of this idea, 'It would be like trying to pretend you've only got one arm because the person you want to marry's only got one arm. It wouldn't work—and you couldn't keep it up, either.' And he's right. She can't. And bad things happen."

Lucy moistened her lips. "What are you saying, Raj?"

Raj patted her hand reassuringly. "I'm saying you're absolutely right. I'm _not_ going to make you a grand sweeping promise about never using my powers on you again, Lucy, because I'd almost certainly never be able to keep it. What I _can_ promise you is: I will never use my powers as an excuse to be a jerk to you, however curious I get. If you need to lie to me, well, I may know you're doing it, but I'll take the lie as shorthand for, 'I don't _want_ to talk about this,' and I will never ask. You still have a right to your privacy." He leant forward, then hesitated. "Um—I was going to kiss you, to prove how serious I am, but I thought I'd better check. Are you okay with that?"

Lucy felt herself misting up. Her stomach knotted again, but more and more, there was so much else in that knot now besides fear. She smiled. "Uh, yeah, I think that would be appropriate." She closed her eyes and leaned forward.

Raj's lips had only just brushed hers when a series of loud pounding thumps rattled his front door. Lucy surprised both him and herself by whipping around to yell at it, completely involuntarily, "Oh for _God's_ sake _go away!_ " Then she looked back, they caught each other's eyes, and a moment later both had dropped back into their seats, laughing helplessly.

The pounding on the door continued. " _Rajesh!_ " yelled a high-pitched feminine voice from outside. "Rajesh, if you can hear me, open this door! _Rajesh!_ "

Raj's eyebrows shot up. Lucy felt his shock of surprise like a cup of cold water being dashed in her face, and started in her chair. Before she could yelp, Raj was up and striding to the front door, which he hauled open to reveal a beautiful young Indian woman in a dark navy pantsuit standing with folded arms. Lucy's stomach sank. Oh, no, was this another one of Raj's exes? Was this going to be the clash with Emily all over—?

The woman slapped Raj hard across the face. " _That's_ for not calling _either_ of our parents for _two days!_ " she shouted at him. "Who do you think they've been calling every hour to find out if I've managed to get in touch with you yet?! And what have you done that the federal government's been hunting you?! Do you realize our parents have been trying to get both me and your cousin Venkatesh to agree to be your lawyers?! I'm not prepared to deal with the United States government! And Venkatesh isn't prepared to deal with a garage sale! What have you got to say for yourself?!"

Raj cleared his throat and massaged his cheek. "Uh, Lucy," he said, glancing over his shoulder at her, "this is my sister Priya. Priya, this is my friend Lucy Armbruster." _His sister?!_ Lucy almost fainted from the rush of relief. "Lucy, I'd like to reassure you that Priya isn't always this, er . . . imperious."

Priya's eyes narrowed at Lucy as if sizing her up for a quick flaying. Lucy gulped. "Armbruster," Priya repeated. "This wouldn't be the same Lucy Ann Armbruster who was also on the news as a federal fugitive?"

"Federal fugi—oh, no, no no no! No, no, no, that's, that's _all_ been cleared up now." Raj waved his hands as if clearing away smoke, with an exaggeratedly nonchalant look and a firm nod that he spoiled by continuing it just a little too long. "For the most part. I think. No, really, honestly, for sure. Mostly. I should have stopped a few clauses ago, shouldn't I?"

"Yes," said Priya, at the same moment Lucy said, "Yeah, probably." Both girls blinked, exchanged a look, and Lucy abruptly found herself smiling. Priya's return smile was hesitant and a little bemused, but it still made her look much friendlier all of a sudden.

It was Raj's turn to give his sister a narrow-eyed look. He clapped his hands together. "Well, Priya, if all you wanted was to confirm for our parents that I'm fine, maybe you and I should give them a Skype call, tell them they have nothing to worry about, and then you can be on your way to wherever you were originally going?"

Priya's smile disappeared promptly back into a glare. "Oh no, Rajesh, this is not over that quickly." She strode in past Raj without hesitation, dragging a black rolling travel suitcase behind her. Raj scowled at her back as she threw her purse onto Raj's coffee table and dropped onto the couch, folding her arms. "First and foremost, I need to know. Is it true? Are you one of these metahumans now, like the people in all those comic books Leonard used to read?"

Raj opened his mouth, then hesitated and gave Lucy an uncertain look. Lucy frowned. Was he asking for her permission? She shrugged helplessly. Raj sighed and turned back. "Yes," he finally said. "Yes, I am. I've become a psionic empath—able to sense and transmit emotions telepathically . . . ." His voice slowed, and he frowned at his sister; then, abruptly, he straightened up and put his hands on his hips. "Which is exactly _why_ I've just now realized one of the other reasons you volunteered to come after me, Priya. You found out Leonard was behind the experiment that kicked all this off, and you thought you'd check up to see if this made him worth pursuing once again, didn't you?!"

Priya's mouth dropped open. "What—I— _no!_ " she sputtered. "What kind of outrageous insinuation is that?! I've been back with Sanjay for years now!"

"No, you've been going back and forth with Sanjay like a tennis ball at a Wimbledon rally," countered Raj. "And whatever you feel for Sanjay, Priya, it isn't love, I can tell that now just from the way you said his name."

Priya frowned. "Really?"

"Well, that and the fact that _you only told me a month ago_ not to mention to Mummy or Daddy that you'd dumped him again! Remember?"

"Oh. So I did." Priya looked momentarily subdued, then rallied. "Well, so what if I am thinking about Leonard again? You can't exactly point fingers at people for their relationship choices, Rajesh."

"God, Priya, Leonard's back with Penny now! They're in love! They were going to get married!"

"Oh, please," Priya scoffed. "I was with Leonard long enough to see those two had nothing in common. And you told _me_ a month ago you were worried about them, remember? Can you blame me for reconsidering my options? But none of that is the point." She sat up, leaned forward, and patted the couch beside her. "Sit down, Rajesh. We have to talk."

"About what?" Raj glowered sulkily, but sat down anyway. Lucy wondered for a moment if she'd somehow gone invisible without realizing it, and was startled to realize how annoying the thought was. Then she thought about making her excuses and leaving, and was even more startled at how little she wanted to do that.

"Well, for starters, about the fact that your primary citizenship is still with the Republic of India, and if you're going to be working for _any_ government, it should probably be ours," said Priya. "I have a contact in the Ministry of Defense who says the high-ups are already arguing with the Ministry of Science and Technology over who gets to call the shots on metas, and they're drafting proposals in Labour and Employment over whether metas get to unionize. Then there's the fact that if you live in the public eye as a meta, our whole family's going to be affected by that—"

Raj snorted. "Right, because there aren't _any_ other families named Koothrappali in a nation of over a billion people."

"—and Daddy feels he and Mummy are owed a little heads-up on just what you plan to do with your life, now that it might actually matter."

Raj's jaw dropped. "Excuse me!" he demanded, leaping to his feet. "Didn't they think it mattered before?! I was the discoverer of Kuiper Belt Object Two-Zero-Zero-Eight-NQ-sub-Seventeen! I was one of _People_ Magazine's Thirty Under-30s to Watch! Don't they think _those_ things matter?"

Priya arched an eyebrow. "Is this Kuiper Belt object Two-Seventeen-whatever going to smash into the earth anytime soon?"

"Well, no . . . ."

"And are you still under thirty years old?"

"No," Raj muttered.

"Then no. They don't. Because they don't."

" _Excuse_ me!" Lucy was flabbergasted to realize it was _her_ who'd burst out with that, but by the time she did she was already on her feet. "Look, I, I'm sorry to interrupt, but—do you have any _idea_ what your brother and I have been through, in the past forty-eight hours? We were, like, federal fugitives! I got chased by real FBI agents, who were trying to Tase me! We had to fight actual Russian gangsters, I mean the really mean ones, who kidnap and sell people and shoot at them, and get, like, really frightening tattoos! And I completely missed out on the chance to be a bridesmaid!" She stomped towards Priya, or tried to; it felt like more of a stumble, but the other woman's eyes had widened all the same. Raj was staring at her too, but Lucy tried to ignore that. "Now, now maybe these are things Raj has got to think about, and maybe since you're his sister you get to give him a harder time than anybody else does. I don't have any siblings, I don't know how that works. But the very least you could do is just, maybe, _back off_ a little . . . and give him a chance to make up his own mind."

She didn't take her eyes from Priya. But she didn't need to look at Raj to feel the sudden wave of emotion surging out from him, like a tide so warm it was just on the edge of painfully hot, yet soothing and supporting all the same, as if she'd fallen into a hot tub without realizing it . . . and yet there was a great deal more than mere soothing to it. She flushed, now uncomfortable in places she wasn't used to being uncomfortable in. As if pulled by magnets she found her head turning so she could meet Raj's eyes. Helplessly, she smiled.

"Oh my God." Priya had covered her mouth with one hand and her stomach with the other, as if she couldn't decide whether to burst into tears or be sick. Her eyes were wide, like a horse's about to bolt. "Oh, God, Raj, is that _you_ doing that?! Raj, God, _stop_ that! You're my _brother_ , I don't want my _brother_ to make me feel like—like _that!_ " She dropped her head and shook it, bending over and covering her head with her arms as if bracing against having water tipped over her. But Raj ignored her, only stepping forward to take Lucy into his arms; she turned her face up to him and kissed him, happier than she'd ever felt in her life, and for just that moment she didn't care about Raj's sister or about empathic induction or about anything in the world except feeling Raj's mouth and body against hers—

The vision smashed into her utterly without warning, in a wall-of-water tsunami of shock.

9:44 A.M.

 _It is like seeing the world as a Monet painting, all blurred lines and sketchy impressions whose shapes are nonetheless clear: in a square, cavernous, echoing space of dust and shadows, blazing lights stab down out of the ceiling in a grid of columns, surrounding a brilliant white circle laid out upon the floor. The circle may be paint, or metal, or light itself; she can't tell. A dark figure, hooded, stands before the circle, arms outstretched in either welcome or command. The floor inside the circle seems to be_ rippling, _as if it is water into which a stone has been hurled. All around, there are dimly visible figures standing, some in uniforms and carrying black metal devices that bleed malice into the air, others in all manner of elegant clothing that sparkles richly. But they are backing away, all of them, and the terror in the air grows thicker by the moment as she runs towards the dark figure, which does not move. Heartbreak and grief and loss are like a sword in her breast, the anguish only making her run faster. She feels that she is screaming but cannot tell what it is; she knows only that she loves the figure under that hood and is in terror for more than his life, and knows only that everything she is saying amounts to a single command: STOP! STOP! STOP! STO—_

 _The floor inside the circle tears apart like tissue paper, if tissue paper could bleed fire. Something massive and horrendous erupts through the gap and smashes upwards into the ceiling of the chamber. She does not hear the screams so much as feel them, like a forest of electrified wires slashing down her skin. The shapeless, faceless monster bellows, its roar loud enough to bring down more of the building. Yet she has no choice, only continuing to bolt towards it. The dark figure stares up at the monster in what feels more like stunned bewilderment than anything else, and she reaches it and flings it aside by sheer force just as the monster opens its jaws._

 _Fire billows down upon her. For one instant, there is mind-bursting agony, and blinding light._

 _Then dark._

9:45 A.M.

"— _gyaahhh!_ " For half a second it was even odds whose legs would give out first, Raj's or hers, but somehow they managed to brace against each other long enough for the strength to return to their knees. Raj's gobsmacked face told Lucy as surely as any empathic blast that he had absolutely no idea what had just happened either. He put one hand to her cheek; she could feel the wetness of the tears under his palm. "Lucy, my God, are you okay? You're not hurt—?"

He was cut off by a high-pitched yelping as Cinnamon burst out of Raj's bedroom, shot across the room like a furry brown guided missile and out the door, which Priya had never closed. Raj clapped his hands to his mouth. "Oh no! Cinnamon! _Cinnamon, come back to Daddy!_ " He sprinted out the door after the dog, leaving Priya and Lucy to gawp after him.

"He still has the dog," said Priya after a moment, sounding bemused. "I'd really hoped he'd gotten rid of the dog." She pointed at Lucy. "You knew he still had the dog, right? No chance this is a dealbreaker for you, or anything?"

Lucy frowned. "Are you asking because you actually care about who your brother is seeing, or because you're trying to think about anything except what just happened?"

Priya thought that over. "I suppose it's kind of a 'two birds' approach," she conceded. "Since you ask, though, _what the hell was that?!_ " She leapt to her feet, her voice shooting upwards without warning into a yell that was very nearly a shriek. Lucy jumped back a yard in sheer fright. Priya pointed out the door after her brother. "Is _that_ what being a psionic empath means?! Is he going to be doing this on a regular basis from now on?!"

"Why the hell are you asking _me?!_ " Lucy shouted back, half furious and half terrified.

"Because he obviously _loves_ you, you little dolt, and if you can't tell me, who can?"

Lucy's jaw dropped. At the sight, Priya blinked; then she groaned and put her hand over her forehead. "Oh, no, he _does_ , doesn't he. Oh, Mummy is not going to like what this does to Rajesh's marriage prospects. What the hell else is going to go wrong today?"

A flicker of light shot down Raj's front door and suddenly the doorway opened on another scene altogether: a different apartment, one Lucy didn't recognize, rather than Raj's hallway. Wearing pajamas and a tartan robe, Sheldon stepped through the doorway and into Raj's living room. "Raj!" he called. "Get out here quickly, Raj, I need to check—oh. Hello, Priya."

It took Priya a few tries to get her jaw working right. "H-h-hello, Sheldon," she finally said faintly. "I take it you're a metahuman too?"

Sheldon brushed down the lapels of his dressing gown. "I prefer to think of it as the manifestation of a latently potential _Homo novus_ status that's been present all my life," he said. "Good morning, Lucy, I trust you slept well?"

"Uh, well, I, uh . . . ."

"Good, pleasantries concluded, on to business: where is Raj?" Lucy tried to find words, gave up and just pointed out the door; Sheldon glanced back at it and frowned. "No, I know he's not in Amy's apartment, I just came from there."

Priya's eyes went wide. " _You_ spent the night at _Amy's_ apartment?"

"Yes, yes, and coitus ensued, I'm sure you'll have the opportunity to dwell salaciously upon it later," said Sheldon. He turned back to Lucy, ignoring Priya's stunned look as she dropped onto the couch. "Or do you mean he left the apartment before I opened a contiguity here?"

"Uh, yes. That."

Sheldon frowned. "Drat. I don't suppose you know if he told you about having an unusual dream?"

"Told us?!" snapped Priya. "He practically melted our brains with it!"

Sheldon looked delighted. "Excellent! Confirmation, at last! Very well, then. Lucy, once Raj gets back, could you tell him to get dressed as soon as possible? We need to go see Leonard at the hospital."

"We do?" Lucy blinked. "Why?"

"Because now I have a second piece of the sample set to share with him." At the girls' bewildered looks, Sheldon sighed. "Yesterday morning I had a terrible nightmare which I was afraid constituted a precognitory warning. Leonard pointed out that with only one data point I couldn't know if it was a trend or an anomaly. Well, just now, I had a second horrible dream. And Amy, with the last traces of the empathic powers she copied from Raj yesterday, picked it up and blasted it all over her apartment building. I was hoping that Raj still had enough connection to her to pick it up even at this range; now that I know he did, I think I can safely confirm my preliminary conclusion about the nature of these dreams."

"Which are?" Lucy husked.

"Oh. I think they're warnings about the end of the world." He turned, headed back to the doorway into Amy's apartment, then stopped and looked over his shoulder. "Oh, Lucy, you wouldn't know if Raj has any Yoo-Hoo in his fridge, would you? Amy's out."

"Sheldon—Sheldon! Hold on a moment." Priya stood, wavering a little unsteadily. "You're worried . . . about the _end_ of the _world_ . . . and you want to know if Raj has Yoo-Hoo?"

Sheldon put his hands on his hips. "I'm sorry, did a nutritious breakfast stop being important just because we have a problem? Sheesh. And people complain about _my_ priorities."


	20. Chapter 20

THE METAHUMAN TRANSFIGURATION

 **Description:** The gang gets superpowers. It's not as cool as some of them always thought. Alternate Season 9 premiere.

 **Notes:** Well, what about that Season 10 finale, eh, folks?! I laughed to hear Amy go all Joisey on us, and I literally yelped aloud when Amy opened that door to see Sheldon. As I have had to say too many times before, I'm deeply sorry for the delay in updates; I can plead only the lack of time that comes with being a sole breadwinner dad when both your wife and son go through cycles of being aggravatingly sick (not seriously, just enough to put some extra caretaking load on). If it is any consolation, I think that next chapter may actually be the last of this particular story, but even while I am venturing into CHUCK fanfic as well, I do plan to return to this universe. Thanks again to everyone who's kept following me, even through the delays.

 **Disclaimer:** The author does not own THE BIG BANG THEORY or any of the characters.

\- 20 -

HUNTINGTON MEMORIAL HOSPITAL, PASADENA, CA

SATURDAY, AUGUST 29, 2015, 9:41 A.M.

Someone who didn't know Beverly Hofstadter might have assumed from her bland expression that she was perfectly content to be where she was, either from natural nonchalance or satisfactory circumstance. But Leonard could tell from the chill she radiated—as perceptibly cold as if a walk-in freezer door had opened in front of him—that nothing could be further from the truth. _Ohhh, this is going to be bad_. His stomach knotted even tighter; for a second, he thought he might actually throw up. Only the sudden pain in his hand as Penny's grip tightened involuntarily upon it brought him back to himself.

"If you don't mind, Leonard, I'd like to get the emotional pleasantries out of the way first and move on to more important matters," said Beverly, coming over to stand by the bed. "The doctors have told me that you appear to be all right and I am very relieved that neither you nor Penny have taken any significant harm from the events of the past few days. I assume that remains true?"

"Uh, yes. Yes, it remains true." It was true that he _appeared_ to be all right, Leonard added silently to himself. For all anybody really knew, he'd given himself a brain aneurysm with that gigantic TK burst and had only a few days to live—although with Bernadette the regenerative healer as a close friend, even that might not be so much of a problem as it sounded. But he'd long since learned not to go down rabbit holes like that when talking to his mother.

"Excellent. I'm very happy." Nothing in Beverly's tone changed at all; she might have been remarking that it had stopped raining. "Now, my next question is: Did you consider even for one second how the situation you've created was going to affect me and the rest of your family?" She pulled up the chair Penny had been sitting in and sat down, folding her hands primly on her knee. "For a self-proclaimed experimental physicist you seem to have remarkably little grasp of preparing for practical consequences."

Penny's mouth dropped open. Leonard wished he was able to share her outrage, but he was far past the point of reacting to his mother with anything but sighing, which he did. "Mother, I don't suppose you've ever heard of the term 'serendipity'? Gunpowder, penicillin, x-rays, anaesthesia, superglue, even nuclear fission—all discovered by accident. Still recognized as amazing achievements."

"Mm, yes," Beverly acknowledged, without sounding one whit less self-contained. "Which only goes to show that scientists are even more likely than most men to fall back on retroactively rationalized intent as a defense mechanism. You know, Penny," she added with an only barely visible smirk, as if sharing a joke, "in psychology circles we call that the PWH reflex."

Penny blinked. "PWH reflex?"

"Pee-Wee Herman," said Beverly, and in an uncannily accurate impression of Paul Reubens' nasal tones added, "'I _meant_ to do that.'" Her smirk widened. Penny's brow furrowed; she glanced at Leonard as if unsure whether to laugh.

Leonard groaned. "Mother . . . ."

"Oh, Leonard, do please relax. If you're so confident of the value of your work, a little perspective-preserving jocularity shouldn't be of any concern. That was always his problem, you know," she said to Penny. "His inability to process constructive criticism produced a need for reassurance that was completely impossible to satisfy. You can see why I stopped bothering to try after a while."

"Stopped?" said Leonard. "You mean you actually _started_ at some point?"

"Well, of course, dear." Beverly raised her eyebrows in mild surprise. "Between your first and second birthdays. You were already perfectly verbal at that point and were more than capable of understanding the 'Satisfactory' ratings I gave you, however little-deserved."

Leonard stared at the air. Every time he dealt with his mother, he thought he'd finally managed to exhaust her capacity to flabbergast him. When would he learn? "You only ever told me I was 'satisfactory' when I _wasn't even two years old?_ I don't have any conscious memory of that time period at all! How could you expect me to retain that?! Or find it to be adequate emotional reinforcement?!"

Beverly shrugged. "I mentioned it at least once in most of my books on the topic. I believe Penny can confirm that. It's hardly my fault if you didn't avail yourself of the research to supplement your fallible memory."

At the end of his rope, Leonard turned to Penny. "Come on, that can't possibly be true. Can it?" His jaw dropped as Penny bit her lip and looked awkward. "Oh, _come on!_ "

"It . . . _was_ in Chapter 2 of _The Disappointing Child_ ," Penny mumbled. "It's, uh . . . actually cited as the first major failure in your ego development." At his wounded look, she spread her hands defensively. "I'm sorry, Leonard, I wanted to get a good mark in the course!"

Leonard buried his face in his hands, took several deep breaths, then looked imploringly at Penny. "Can we go find Sammy and fight him again?" he begged his fiancée. "Because there's no way that could be less fun than this."

"Fleeing uncomfortable emotional truths by seeking to engage in violence," said Beverly in deep satisfaction. "Classic masculine sublimation, Leonard." She tilted her head. "Actually, surprisingly masculine for you, come to think of it. Maybe these experiences _have_ done you some good."

Leonard was saved from having to reply by a completely unexpected, but shockingly welcome, bellow from just outside the door. "Beverly, what you know about healthy masculinity could be written on a postage stamp! With room left over! Get your hands off me, you thundering anthropophagi, I'm here to _see my son!_ " Thrusting his way past the suited FBI agents trying to restrain him, Alfred Hofstadter burst into the room, galloped to Leonard's side and caught him in a crushing embrace. "Leonard, my God, my boy! Are you all right?!"

"Dad, I'm fine, I'm fine!" To his own shock Leonard found himself laughing, and had to admit some slight shame in how much he was enjoying his mother's disgruntled look. "What happened? Why didn't the two of you get here together? I mean, I assume you were notified around the same time . . . ."

Alfred separated to give his ex-wife a blazing glare, which she returned with icy disdain. "Because after having to put up with each other on the flight all the way here, _somebody_ didn't bother to hold a cab for me at the airport so we could share!" He turned his back on Beverly, sat down on the bed and gripped Leonard's shoulders. "Seriously, Leonard, you've got to tell us what happened. The last I heard you and your friends were all still wanted for questioning by the federal government. Vultures," he added in a _sotto voce_ growl.

"Oh, that. Right. Um—" Leonard sifted his memory, then slumped. "Honestly, Dad, I don't know. I thought we had a temporary truce, but I've been out of it all night . . . ."

"Actually," Penny interrupted, sounding pleased, "Howard, Bernadette, and Ms. Locke were working on exactly that problem last night, Leonard, before I came down to wait with you. With Senator Thorpe and his right-hand guy."

"Senator Thorpe. Senator _Richard_ Thorpe?" said Alfred.

Beverly's eyes narrowed. "You're familiar with the gentleman, Alfred?"

"Not personally." Alfred waved one hand, frowning. "I've seen his name on letterhead from a couple of government commissions, that's all. Mostly when I was getting a research grant denied for out-of-country digs."

Leonard blinked. "Wait; this guy was in charge of giving out grants to anthropologists? And now he wants to try to head up a department handling superhumans? Doesn't exactly sound like an applicable skills transfer." He looked at Penny, who only shrugged, equally puzzled.

Beverly shook her head. "In my experience, Leonard, politicians are like most men; they worry more about getting the credit than they do about proving accomplishment." With an arch look, she added, "Even when it's for a self-admitted complete accident."

Leonard's jaw tightened, and he took another few deep breaths. He'd long since learned that losing his temper with his mother did no good—she either serenely ignored it or, worse, turned it into yet another excuse to be disappointed with him. "The important thing, Mother, is that we're not fugitives any more—uh, we aren't, are we?" he added with a quick sidelong glance at Penny. Her helpless shrug wasn't much of an answer, but he bulled ahead regardless. "So once the doctors clear me to check out, we can go home and get started on finding a few answers, without having to worry about getting arrested." He paused as another unwelcome thought occurred to him. "Although I suppose we _might_ still have to worry about getting sued for the property damage. I don't know if JPL's insurance covers exploding particle accelerators."

"Hm. You should have gotten Sheldon involved earlier, dear," said Beverly. "I'm sure he would have remembered to check into that."

Leonard clenched his jaw harder and breathed even deeper. Unfortunately, his mother was probably right; that sounded like precisely the kind of insane detail Sheldon _would_ have gone into, if he'd been at all interested in helping with the experiment. Which only made the remark all the more infuriating.

Penny's eyebrows went up, and she cleared her throat. "Um, Leonard, sweetie," she said quietly, "you might not believe this but that actually is a little uncomfortable. Even for me." She nodded down at their linked hands, where his knuckles were turning white.

"Oh! Oh my God, baby, I'm so sorry." Leonard let her go hastily, horrified at himself.

"Wait a minute. _You_ hurt _her?_ " Alfred looked amazed. "The stuff I've seen her shrug off on YouTube, and a handshake hurts? Although given who caused it," he added with a glare at Beverly, "maybe I'm not so surprised after all." He shook his head, ignoring Beverly's narrowed eyes, and took Leonard by the shoulders. "Son, I don't know anything about what happened to you and I don't know what you're going to need to do about it. But can I give you one piece of advice?"

"Um . . . yeah, sure, of course, Dad."

Alfred looked him straight in the eye. "Take. Time. Off." He let Leonard go and gestured out the window. "I know you want to get started figuring all this stuff out. But you gotta give yourself time to process what's happened—to figure out what _hasn't_ changed. What you don't _want_ to change. If you're tired and freaked out, you're not gonna make the best decisions. So go hole up for a few days in a good hotel with your gorgeous girlfriend here," he gave Penny a smile, and she blushed, "and remind yourself what really matters."

"Fiancée," Penny corrected, but she was smiling. "Not girlfriend. Fiancée. Remember?" She twiddled her fingers, showing off the ring. Leonard looked at her, and a gush of warmth went through his chest. God, his father was right, wasn't he? She really was gorgeous. The best thing that had ever happened to him. In fact . . . .

"Actually, Dad," he said, "I think I did just make one very good decision, even if I am still a little freaked out." He turned to Penny and covered her hand with his. "You didn't happen to see if there was a chaplain on duty today, did you?"

Penny frowned. "A chaplain? Why would— _oh!_ " She clapped both her hands to her mouth, eyes wide. "Are you serious? Right here? Right now?"

"Well, not right this _second_ ," Leonard admitted. "I still want to get our friends down here, but at least my folks are already here, and we can do another ceremony once we can get your parents out here for it. But—yeah. Today. Soon as we can."

Penny grinned, her eyes liquid. Leonard smiled back at her and leaned in for a kiss, only to freeze as the most unpleasant sound he'd ever heard from his childhood echoed through the room once more: "Ehhhhmmm . . . ." The wordless sound conveyed exactly the same note of primly condescending disapproval it always had.

Leonard could actually feel the blood pounding in his ears. "What is it, Mother?"

"Beverly," said Alfred, the name alone a warning.

Beverly ignored him, as she usually did. As she always had, Leonard found himself thinking. A monstrously tight band of pain seemed to be cranking itself closed around his temples. "Far be it from me to thwart your progress towards emotional maturity, Leonard, but as your mother I feel obliged to point out the frequency with which impulse marriages like this wind up failing. I also can't help but note that there do still remain profound psychological incompatibilities between both yourself and, ahem, Penny here. Now I can't stop you from making your own decisions, however foolish, but—"

"Mother." Leonard made himself let go of Penny's hand so he could knot his fists in his bedsheets. His knuckles turned white again. "Is there anything I can say which will change your mind about anything I do? Anything at all?" The sheer effort of holding onto his temper left no energy for putting any tone into his voice; to himself he sounded more tired than anything else. But for some reason Penny's eyes widened, and she actually shifted away from him.

Beverly blinked and looked thoughtful. "Hm. Well, I could always ask Sheldon; if _he_ thinks this is a good idea—"

And that was the last straw. Leonard's temper shattered like a glass window hit with a brick; his skin felt like it had caught on fire. "Mother, _go away!_ " he roared, sweeping his hand across the air as if to shove something away from him.

With a scorching, actinic flash of light and a ripping crack like a miniature lightning bolt, Beverly vanished, leaving spots behind on Leonard's eyes and a smell like ozone in the air.

For half a second, there was nothing but ringing silence in the room as Leonard gaped at the empty chair where his mother had been sitting, too stunned even for horror. Alfred's jaw hung open. Then Penny screamed, even as the door slammed open again and suited FBI agents poured in with weapons levelled. "Nobody move!" yelled the man in the lead, eyes flicking back and forth. "Hands in the air! What happened?" He frowned. "Where's Dr. Hofstadter?"

Still blinking, Leonard and Alfred both raised one tentative hand. The agent rolled his eyes. "Oh, God. Okay, where's whatshername, um—" He gestured helplessly.

"Beverly," Penny squeaked out.

"Beverly! Right. Okay, ah—where's Dr. Beverly Hofstadter?!" The agent tried to make the second demand sound just as imperious as the first, but even he seemed to realize he hadn't quite succeeded. He flushed.

"I, ah . . . I don't know," Leonard managed. He could feel whole-body shakes setting in; his skin prickled, freezing and burning at once, and only the emptiness of his stomach kept him from throwing up. Oh God, oh God, what had he done?! For all his anguish over his mother and his unresolved anger with her, he'd _never_ wanted to hurt her: she was too much a part of how he'd become who he was, too vital a keystone to all his memories. And he'd studied enough mythology to know that the worst punishments were _always_ reserved for those who killed their family, even by accident or unintentionally: matricides, patricides, fratricides . . . .

He shook even harder now, only dimly aware that the FBI men had surrounded him, and that they were keeping their distance only because Penny was standing over him with clenched fists, while his father shouted imprecations he couldn't make out. Oh, God. He was a _murderer_ now. He'd _killed his own mother._ Everything he'd gone through, trying to save and rebuild his life since he'd woken up able to see without his glasses—it was all wasted now. Worthless. One moment of lost temper and he had ruined his life, and Penny's, and probably all his friends' because there was no _way_ the government would keep their word to them with this kind of crime staining his hands—

An odd sound filtered through the jabber of angry voices: an electronic burring, not loud but insistent. One by one everybody yelling fell silent, looking around in confusion, until finally Alfred struck his own forehead and fumbled his cell phone out of his jacket to answer it. "Yes?" he rasped. His eyebrows went up, he blinked a couple of times, and then—moving slowly, as if afraid he would drop something—held the phone out to Leonard. "Um—son? It's for you."

Maybe he was still dreaming, Leonard thought vaguely. Maybe nothing since he'd woken up had actually happened. Maybe it was _all_ a dream, as he'd first wondered. That would be really nice, come to think of it. He took Alfred's phone and put it to his ear. "Hello?" he whispered.

" _Leonard,_ " said his mother's voice, almost but not _quite_ perfectly composed—he could hear the faintest of tremors in it, which for Beverly Hofstadter was very nearly the equivalent of a full-blown fit of hysterics. " _I appear somehow to have been instantaneously transported to a comic book store somewhere in downtown Pasadena, and from the fact that you're in several photos on the wall, I infer that it's an establishment with which you're familiar. Nobody else is here, and it appears to be closed. Would you be kind enough to provide an explanation for this state of affairs?_ "

Leonard only barely kept himself from bursting into hysterical laughter, or sobs, he wasn't sure which. "Mom," he gulped. Penny gasped in relief, dropped onto the mattress behind him and covered her face with both hands. Alfred sank back on the bed with an outrush of breath. "Well, I, ah, that's gonna take a few minutes to figure out, but in the meantime I'd be happy to send a cab to pick you up."

" _Thank you, Leonard, but I think I really would appreciate_ some _kind of answer. Did you do this?_ "

Leonard shook his head in disbelief. "Well, Mother, I could try to bring you back the same way and see if _that_ works, you wanna try that?"

" _NO!_ " A pause, then more sheepishly, " _Ah, no, thank you, Leonard, but—no. No, I think a cab will suffice._ " Another beat. " _But . . . it would be helpful if you could assure me this isn't going to happen again._ "

Reflexively, Leonard opened his mouth to say yes, of course, he would never do it again, not ever, not now that he knew his Mom disapproved . . . and then he stopped. Partly because, as a cold voice in his mind pointed out, he _couldn't_ guarantee it. Whatever he'd tapped into last night to hold up that gigantic sword, he had clearly tapped into again to teleport Beverly a dozen miles across the city—but he still wasn't quite sure _how_ , or what might trigger it again . . . although there _was_ one common factor. And, as an even colder mental voice pointed out, if anybody found that factor both relevant and compelling, it would be his mother . . . .

"I don't think I can guarantee anything, Mom," he said, sounding surprisingly calm even to himself. "But I will point out that both times this happened, I was in an extremely overwrought mental state. Maybe it might be a good idea, in our next interactions, to consider my emotional reactions more carefully than you usually do?"

There was a long pause at the other end this time. " _I . . ._ suppose _that might not be entirely inappropriate,_ " Beverly said finally, sounding as if she was having to push the words out one by one. " _But of all the ways you could have learned to be more assertive, Leonard, I'm not certain threatening your mother is one I'd call healthy._ "

"And of all the ways you could have _taught_ me to be more assertive, Mother, I'm quite certain that this is probably the best job you could have done," Leonard said. "So if you'll take a little advice? Quit while you're ahead." He cut off the call, handed the phone to Alfred and drew a deep, shuddering breath. It was weird. The aftershock of the power burst was still prickling his skin, his stomach was still in knots, there were still traces of that agonizing headache in his temples . . . but he couldn't remember the last time he'd felt this good.

No, wait. He could. It had been the day Penny had sat down beside him and said, simply, " _Vegas isn't that far away._ " He turned to her, and found her smiling at him, her eyes wet. "Hey," he said, his voice rough. "You okay?"

She caught him in the fiercest embrace she would allow herself; he could feel her holding herself back, almost trembling. "I have _never_ been so proud of you," she whispered in his ear. The room blurred. Not caring that his father and the FBI men were watching, Leonard returned the hug as tightly as he could.

"Me neither, son," said Alfred hoarsely. "Me neither." He let them hug a moment more, then added, "But you're still going to have to invite her to the wedding."

"Aw, _crap!_ " Penny groaned.

11:55 A.M.

"Come on, come on, come on . . . _yes!_ " Barry Kripke snatched his phone out of the plastic storage container and cradled it to his cheek, eyes closed, like a toddler getting a favourite teddy bear back. After a moment he flipped it over, punched in his code, scrolled through several app screens, then sighed in relief. "Okay—Jasmine, Tiffany, Wachel, Maxi, oh, gweat, theh'w all theuh. Phew."

Bernadette tilted her head and smiled affectionately. "Aw—are those family members?"

Kripke cleared his throat. "Well, they're . . . vewy special wadies to me, so, um . . . ."

"They're porn stars, aren't they?" asked Howard.

"Yeah," Kripke admitted, with only the slightest of sheepish looks. Bernadette's smile disappeared into a grimace. Kripke waved his phone at her defensively. "Hey, you wook at _yoah_ budget aftah buying a bunch of special editions, and tell me you'h not wewieved to find out you haven't wasted yoah money."

"So I think we can conclude that exposure to this pulse doesn't immediately change your personality," said Leslie Winkle as she took the container and retrieved her own phone, her tone as dry as it always was. She glanced at Sheldon. "Unless your personality happens to be that of an arrogant gasbag dumbass. Then it makes it even worse."

Sheldon folded his arms. "Forgive me, Dr. Winkle, for thinking that gaining the ability to manipulate space and time might impress one with an even greater sense of one's responsibilities. What excuse do _you_ have for continuing to be the same old meanie-weenie nastypants _you've_ always been?"

Leslie looked thoughtful, then held up both her hands and snapped her fingers. Around her right hand, a halo of flame burst into existence, crackling and snapping as if an invisible torch had ignited; waves of searing heat shimmered up from it. Around her left materialized a shroud of freezing-cold blue-white energy, swirling and sparkling like a miniature tornado in a blizzard; a stream of condensed ice particles sifted down out of the air beneath it. With a tight-lipped grin, she opened her hands palm-up, and the twin energies billowed upwards in columns of ice and fire that sent tangible waves of heat and chill rolling around the hospital boardroom. Nearly everybody at the table thrust their chairs back in reflex, and half the suited agents lining the walls went for their weapons before Leslie closed her hands and the energies disappeared.

"Suck it, Katy Perry," she said, and cast a smug look at Sheldon. "Dumbass."

"Positive _and_ negative thermal induction," said Leonard, impressed. Solely out of appreciation for the annoyed look on Sheldon's face, he added, "Cool. So I guess your superhero name can be 'Tsundere', Leslie."

Leslie scowled. "Okay, first of all, I am not putting on multicoloured tights for anything, and secondly, that word doesn't even make any sense. Is that supposed to be Japanese? I _speak_ Japanese."

"You never got into anime fandom, Leslie," said Howard, taking his own phone and passing the box on to Bernadette. "It's a portmanteau word, from _tsuntsun_ and _deredere_ —'disgust' and 'lovey dovey'—so basically it's a term for a character who flips between extremes of brusqueness and niceness: you know, punch you in one scene then kiss you in the next, or in other words . . . ."

". . . 'runs hot and cold,' yeah, yeah, I get it." Leslie grimaced. "For the record, Leonard: No."

At the head of the table, Senator Thorpe rapped lightly on the wood with his knuckles. "People?" he said with deliberate patience. "Please?" He held up a sheaf of paper, then nodded to a suited aide, who began walking around the table handing copies out to everyone. "The contract that Ms. Locke and Dr. Rostenkowski-Wolowitz worked out last night should address most of the factors of concern. Dr. Kripke, Dr. Winkle, Mr. Bloom—" He nodded at Stuart, who was sitting at the other end of the table beside Raj and Lucy, looking bemused. "I expect you'll want a few minutes to review this before signing . . . ."

Stuart raised his hand diffidently. "Um—I don't appear to have actually got any, you know, actual powers," he said. "Does that make a diffierence? 'Cause, well, I'd still like to be part of this endeavour, if that's okay with everybody . . . ."

Leonard blinked at him, startled. "What? Really? Why didn't you say anything before?"

"I'd heard sometimes it takes a while for powers to show up," said Stuart, shrugging. "And, you know, I didn't want to draw too much attention to myself, 'cause usually that's . . . when I get asked to leave places, so . . . ." He shifted in his seat, studiously looking at nothing in particular.

Guilt gnawed at Leonard. He cleared his throat. "Well, you know, having somebody involved who _isn't_ a meta might not be a bad idea," he suggested. "Somebody who can give an alternate perspective on things, somebody who knows all about the difficulties and responsibilities of handling power without having any of those burdens himself . . . ."

"Burdens," said Stuart. "Yeah. 'Cause, that's exactly how _I'd_ thought of them . . . ."

"Shut up, I'm trying to help you here," Leonard muttered through clenched teeth.

"That's actually not a bad idea, Dr. Hofstadter," said Senator Thorpe. "In fact it's a sufficiently good idea that it already occurred to us. You do know that as part of the contract, your team is required to work on a daily basis with a government representative, correct?"

"What?!" Sheldon looked alarmed. "Bernadette, why didn't you tell me about this? You know I haven't had a chance to read the contract yet."

"I'm sorry," Bernadette grumbled. "I was a little distracted by Amy telling me about how you and she had sex last night."

"WHAT?!" The yell came simultaneously from Leonard, Penny, Howard, Stuart, Kripke, and Leslie, loud enough that the Secret Service agents all started and half of them drew their weapons. Thorpe physically jumped where he was standing, and even Director Belasco jerked a little in his seat. In her seat, Amy turned bright red and hunched down, but her mouth twitched as if she desperately wanted to smile.

Sheldon scowled. "I don't know why you're all so surprised. I'm perfectly capable of the functionality, and if I was going to participate in it with anybody, logic suggests it would be Amy."

"Well, yeah, of course, we know, but—but—" Penny gestured helplessly and ran out of words, her mouth working like a fish's. She shook her head, then grinned. "I honestly don't know if I wanna hug you both or pinch myself. Congratulations, Amy."

"You think that's a shock," said Lucy, "wait until he tells you about his dreams showing the end of the world." Then it was her turn to recoil into her chair as everybody but Raj, Amy and Sheldon stared at her. "Sorry. Uh, spoiler alert?" She smiled weakly.

Director Belasco cleared his throat. "I can't help but think we're getting a little off topic," he said. "Look, people, this is gonna be your corporation. You can decide who wants to join you, for whatever reason, it's not gonna affect your favoured-contractor status. It's not gonna get us to pay you more money either, though, so the more people who join the company the less each of you gets as a share. So your call, guys. Now can we get ink on paper, please?" He tapped the table impatiently.

"Though we _will_ come back to this 'end of the world' business," Thorpe interjected.

"Just one question, Director," said Sheldon, his eyes narrowed. "You said we had to work with a government representative. Exactly who are we going to be working with? Not you, by any chance?"

"No, of course not," said Belasco. "I'm the Director for the agency, I'm not going to have time to do personal liaison duties. No, the paperwork for the transfer came through about an hour ago." He twisted to look over his shoulder and spoke to the agent standing by the door. "Gordon? You wanna send her in?"

 _Her?_ Leonard raised an eyebrow as the suited agent pushed the door open. A moment later, his eyebrows went up and his jaw dropped. Seated in a wheelchair, Angela Page rolled in, dressed in her working suit; her face was pale, and an IV rig carrying a blood bag trailed behind her, but her eyes were steady and bright. Staring at her, Raj gulped and shrank back as if recoiling from a furnace door that had suddenly sprung open to emit scorching heat.

Howard groaned and put his hand to his brow. "Oh, no," he muttered.

"Agent Page!" Leonard began to get up, extending his hand, but froze at the cold look in her eyes. Carefully, he sat back down. "Um, thank you for agreeing to help us make this work . . . ."

"Dr. Hofstadter, let me make one thing perfectly clear," said Page. "I'm not here to be your friend, or anybody's friend. I'm here to make sure the company you're forming complies with the law, and that you and your colleagues uphold the standards that metahumans are going to have to maintain in public. Given what happened to me two days ago—and the fact that I still can't _recall_ those events, and had to figure out some of it through a medical exam—my sympathy for metahumans in general is at an extreme low." She glared around the table at all of them. "So since my good reports to Director Belasco will be critical to your continued independence, not to say freedom in general, I _strongly_ suggest to all of you that you stop trying to ingratiate yourself with me and just concentrate on being the so-called 'heroes' we're giving you the chance to be. Am I clear?"

Leonard swallowed. "Uh, yes, yes. Crystal. So, uh . . . I take it you don't want to come to the wedding, afterwards." He gestured between himself and Penny.

Page blinked and raised a quizzical eyebrow. "What? No, of course I do. As your company's government liaison I have to confirm changes to your legal marital status." She suddenly grinned; the expression would have made her look beautiful if it hadn't been so at odds with her cold-eyed deadpan of only a moment ago. "Besides, I love weddings."

"Oh . . . kay," said Leonard, for lack of anything else coming to mind. He glanced down at the copy of the incorporation contract and flipped quickly through it, then went back to the first page. "We don't have a formal name for the incorporated group?"

"Breanna said it was quicker and more secure just to have a number," said Bernadette.

"Plus, most of the good team names are already copyrighted," Howard said. "The Avengers, the X-Men, the Justice League, the Squadron Supreme, Suicide Squad—and we can't call ourselves the Fantastic Four when there are at least eleven of us including Stuart . . . ."

"We could call ourselves the Excellent Eleven," Raj suggested. "Oooh—or the Winning Craps Roll!"

"Well, as I've observed before, the X in 'X-Men' stood for Professor Charles Xavier, their leader," said Sheldon. "As I'm clearly going to be one of our leaders, if not _the_ leader, I still think that 'C-Men' would be a great name for our team."

"Okay, first, no, it would not," said Leonard immediately. "And second, who said _you_ were going to be _any_ kind of leader? The whole point of this is that we'll all be working _together_ , and—" Page cleared her throat loudly with a significant look. Leonard cut himself off, took a breath, and resumed more calmly. "Look, most of us are scientists. Why don't we call ourselves after a scientific theory? 'E=MC2', or something like that?"

Sheldon tilted his head, looking thoughtful. "'The Heliocentrists' has a certain ring to it," he admitted.

Raj shook his head. "No, no, trust me, I've graded enough astronomy undergraduate papers to know the press will _never_ spell that right. I say we call ourselves The Quantum Mechanics."

Howard grimaced. "Sounds more like a rock band than a superhero team. Besides, everybody and their grandmother is calling stuff 'quantum' these days."

"Hey, I got an idea," said Kripke. "Given all the action we'h gonna get offuhd by hot gwoupies once we go pubwic, why don't we pick a name that weawwy bwings that home? Call us 'The Big Bang Theowy'." He folded his arms and grinned.

The rest of the group exchanged glances, then said in one simultaneous voice, " _No._ "

U.S. BANK TOWER, 633 WEST FIFTH STREET, LOS ANGELES, CA

12:01 P.M.

" _No,_ " said everybody at once. Emily felt an odd twinge in her heart, half laughter, half sorrow. She had never liked Raj's friends as much as he'd wanted her to, and was still infuriated with Raj himself—she carefully kept herself from thinking about what the persistence of that anger might indicate—but she did miss, at times, the way they could pull off mind-meld gags like this. It was ironic, really, considering that _she_ was the one doing an actual mind-meld at the moment.

Through Angela Page's eyes and ears, everything had an odd remoteness to it, a feeling like she was watching everything with a quarter-second delay that she couldn't quite catch in action; every voice seemed to have the faintest subliminal echo, and to be muted just slightly from what ought to be its normal volume. Hal had told Emily that she would be able to take complete remote possession of someone's mind, eventually, and even leave preprogrammed courses of action to be implemented later upon trigger command, but those needed more time and skill to prepare than she'd had for Page. " _You could try to take over by brute force now_ ," he'd said, " _but she would fight that, and it would be obvious to everyone around her. What you've done already is more than enough to let you look in and listen, any time you want, without betraying yourself. And I often find that's more useful anyways._ "

She was already convinced that he was right. He'd been right, too, that daylight didn't have to be a problem so long as they were carefully sheltered; the apartment she sat in now, halfway up the Bank Tower building, was like any luxury suite, the one exception being rubber-sealed steel shutters so no trace of sunlight could spill in. A certain leaden fatigue was still present, and currently amplified by psychic feedback from Page's own weakened condition, but a few minutes of focused concentration during and after sunrise had shown her that she didn't _have_ to pass out. " _We don't generally deal with people who've figured out what we are any more,_ " he'd admitted. " _But on the rare occasions we do, being able to exert influence exactly when they don't expect us to has been a lifesaver, more than once._ "

Hal sat across from her now, perched on the edge of a mahogany coffee table, elbows on his knees and fingers tented together at his mouth. Emily was aware of him, somehow, even with her eyes closed to more clearly see what Page was seeing. "They're still arguing over names," she reported, her voice sounding vague and distant to her own ears, as if she was sleepwalking. "Page is losing her patience again. Should I nudge her into saying something?"

"No," said Hal immediately. "This is the first chance we've had to get an agent close to Thorpe and Belasco in years. I don't want to risk betraying it by making her act more out of character than she already is. Too many times, even the subtlest programming leaves marks that can be spotted." He scowled. "I've already wasted Sergeant Abrams to no good end. By the time his unit's psychiatric counsellors get through with him he'll be suspended for months, if not altogether fired."

"Oh." Emily held up her hand. "It looks like they're finally signing the papers. Maybe they are just going with the corporation number after all." Everybody had been given a pen and was flipping through sheet after sheet in the contract, initialing or scribbling as appropriate. "Let me see if I can get Page to look more closely at the corporation number—I . . . ."

She trailed off. Raj had glanced at Page earlier as if sensing something strange, but she thought she'd scared him off with that blast of hostile anger, a reaction that had been almost entirely Page's own. What she hadn't expected was the narrow-eyed look that—who was this guy again? He ran the comic book store: _Stuart_ , right—that Stuart was giving Page now. Had he noticed something suspicious? No, he couldn't have; he'd never met Page, and he'd said himself he didn't have any powers yet—

— _hello whoever you are_ — came the thought, like a needle of ice piercing Emily's brain, so fine and sharp it didn't even hurt. She gasped. Stuart's mouth twitched, and his eyes stayed steady on hers/Page's, betraying absolutely no surprise. — _if you're worried i'll tell somebody, don't—i have some secrets of my own, and i don't mind keeping yours if you'll keep mine_ —

Tentatively, she formed a reply in the back of Page's mind, making it sound like half-remembered lines from a Shakespeare play Page had seen once. _When then shall we meet again? In thunder, lightning, or in rain?_

— _later_ — came the reply. — _i can tell you already know my name—i can feel it—when you're ready, you can find me—but no surprises—i'll know you're coming_ —

Emily's mouth firmed. She chose lyrics now, remembering Harry Belafonte's rich voice, so Page would still think this was just an earworm if she noticed. _Do you know who I am? Do I know who you are? See we one another clearly, do we know who we are?_ She was aware that Hal was staring intently at her, obviously aware something was up but not knowing what.

— _we will_ — was all the reply she got. In words. In the next second, Stuart's eyes abruptly widened in an intense glare, and an impact like a hard punch to her face knocked her backwards and sent her reeling. She opened her eyes, gasping in shock, her link to Page completely lost.

Hal sat up in alarm. "Emily?" he asked. "Are you all right?" Concern roughened his voice and thickened his accent; _my native Welsh_ , he'd said, but she was too stunned to care at the moment.

"That was . . . unexpected," she finally stammered.

"Was it your ex?" Hal put his hand on hers. "I warned you he might be more sensitive to you specifically. Those kinds of talents _are_ affected by personal connections."

"No." Emily shook her head. "No. It was . . . somebody else. A friend of theirs. Or at least, they think he's a friend, he may be . . . much less of one than they realize. Which doesn't mean he'll be _our_ friend. But—" She met Hal's eyes. "But it might be another opportunity. Maybe one I could pursue for you. So I can prove my value to the group."

Hal took her other hand and put it in his, so he was holding both of her hands. "You're already valuable to us, Emily, just by being who you are." He paused a moment, then nodded slowly. "But the world has changed around us, even more than we're used to it doing. Finding our own answers never hurts. Now. I'll bet you're hungry, aren't you?"

"Hungry? No, I—" But apparently her system had only been waiting for her to think about it, because the moment she said _No_ her stomach growled loudly. Hal laughed, and she cringed a little. He got up, went to the intercom by the door, punched a code, muttered quiet words into it, then turned back to her. "You've picked things up _amazingly_ quickly, for a stranger to our situation," he said. "But this is still something that needs monitoring, until we know we can trust you. So I'll just stick around, shall I?"

 _You can stick around forever if you like_ , Emily thought, though she kept that impulse firmly under wraps. What her body wanted and what her head thought was a good idea weren't agreeing at the moment. She only nodded. Within minutes, the door had buzzed, and Hal opened the door to let the visitor in: a tall young man, brown-haired and green-eyed, his smile dim and unfocused as if he wasn't really sure where he was or why he was here. Hal rubbed his hands. "Perfect! They sent him pre-conditioned for us. Oh, I do love the room service here."

Emily tuned out the blather. She must have expended more energy than she'd thought; her hunger had spiraled all the way up from mild twinge to fiercely aching cramp within thirty seconds. She stood, hurried to the young man, and bent to put her mouth against his neck, using her tongue to find the beat of his artery. It still helped if she didn't think about this part of it too much—

Liquid fire flooded her mouth in a gush, torrented down her throat, and exploded in her stomach into a supernova of bliss and relief. Emily let herself vanish into the thick boiling heat of utter, gluttonous satisfaction. Everything in her mind disappeared.


	21. Chapter 21

THE METAHUMAN TRANSFIGURATION

 **Description:** The gang gets superpowers. It's not as cool as some of them always thought. Alternate Season 9 premiere.

 **Notes:** Okay, despite my certainty that I could wrap this thing up in a chapter, it turns out this is actually the first of two final chapters; I was planning to do it all as one big finish, but I decided not to push the limits of readers' patience or FanFiction's file upload protocol. Part of the dialogue in this story will be recognized as an adaptation from the episode "The Matrimonial Momentum" (story by Chuck Lorre, Jim Reynolds and Maria Ferrari, teleplay by Steven Molaro, Steve Holland and Eric Kaplan), but as I have never—brace yourself for a shocker, folks—actually _seen_ any of the _Toy Story_ movies after the first, I changed Penny's improvised vows to come from something that I think means just as much to Leonard and far more to me.

 **Disclaimer:** The author does not own THE BIG BANG THEORY or any of the characters.

\- 21 -

HUNTINGTON MEMORIAL HOSPITAL, PASADENA, CA

SATURDAY, AUGUST 29, 2015, 2:00 P.M.

Penny had taken one glance at the legalese of the contract Bernadette and Locke had drawn up and had abandoned even trying to read it half a paragraph in; she was essentially riding on faith in Bernadette and Leonard that she wasn't giving away the rights to her and Leonard's firstborn (and _God_ how freaky a thought was _that?!_ ). As a result, she'd been pleasantly surprised to find out that one of the elements Locke had incorporated into the contract was a general assistant. The assistant in question was a young woman who'd been an intern at Locke's law firm, a dark-eyed Chinese girl named Nicola, whose evident intellect had intimidated Penny a little until they'd discovered a mutual love for shoes. After chattering happily away over their most fondly-remembered scores on Amazon, Penny had felt a lot more comfortable about asking Nicola to go retrieve an appropriate dress from her closet.

"I can get a suit for Dr. Hofstadter as well," Nicola had added. "Do you have any recommendations for what he might prefer? Or should I ask him? I think he's out front waiting for his mother to get back."

Penny rolled her eyes. "After you strip out the burgundy corduroy, the fan costumes and the paisley, you'll be down to, like, three. Any of them should do. Get the grey, he looks good in that."

"Okay." Nicola nodded in satisfaction and held out her hand. "Can I get the keys to your units? Or does Dr. Hofstadter have those?"

Penny carefully restrained a smile. "I heard you say earlier Dr. Cooper had volunteered to take you around the places you're getting stuff from?"

"Well, more like his girlfriend kinda browbeat him into it, but yeah, he agreed." Nicola glanced down at a list of addresses in her notebook and frowned. "He must be a really good driver if he thinks he can hit all these places in less than two hours."

Penny smirked. "Yeah, you're not gonna need any keys. Trust me." As Nicola thought about that with a bemused look, Penny put her hand on the other woman's arm. "Listen, Nicola, I really hope this job isn't a come-down for you. If you were in line to make partner or something, I don't want you to think all we're gonna ask you to do is, like, get drycleaning or stuff like that . . . ."

Nicola snorted. "You think they didn't ask me to get drycleaning at the firm? And they took their interns a lot more for granted. My thinking was, if I'm gonna be running menial errands anyway, I might as well do it for a much better pay rate. And this way Ms. Locke knows my name. I mean, I'm not gonna be making what _you_ make, but—"

"What _I_ make?" It hadn't occurred to Penny that there would be a paycheque for _her_ in this. She'd thought of it solely in terms of staying out of jail or off a laboratory table. "How much do I make?"

Nicola lowered her voice and told her. Penny's jaw had dropped. _Holy crap!_ That was half again what she made in a good year as a sales rep from Zangen! "Man, I should've gotten into government work sooner," she'd managed after a moment.

"Yeah, well, don't go broadcasting it," Nicola warned her. "Nobody likes hearing how much federal contractors make or what kind of benefits they get. Even if they are superheroes."

A little over an hour later, Nicola had returned to the doctors' lounge on the government-commandeered eighth floor, staggering under the weight of both a boatload of clothes and several bags (Sheldon, typically for him, clearly hadn't offered to carry any of it) and a flabbergasted expression which Penny guessed to be the result of going through half a dozen Cooper Special whooshy-gateway things in a row. Penny grabbed the clothes and the bags, handed Nicola one of the bottles of wine from those bags, and told everybody but herself and the bridesmaids to clear out of the lounge. Amy had virtually broken down in tears when Penny had given her her tiara. "You _remembered!_ " she gushed, and hugged Penny tightly, an embrace only broken up by the static-shock _zing_ that went through them both when her power triggered.

Now she, Amy, Bernadette and Lucy were downstairs outside the hospital's tiny chapel on the first floor, shifting uncomfortably as they glanced back and forth from the chapel's closed door to the suited agents standing guard at either end of the corridor. Penny's hands felt sweaty on the bridal bouquet. "What the heck is _taking_ them so long in there?" she hissed.

From the iPad Amy held came a tinny contralto voice, at a surprising volume. "You know," said Susan Carmichaels, her face distorted from leaning into the computer webcam pickup at her end, "somebody who's so impatient to get married she can't even wait for her _parents_ to be there maybe doesn't have room to complain about somebody _else_ making her wait."

"Oh, give it a rest, Susie," said Wyatt Carmichaels, squeezed in beside her. He grinned at his daughter. "Don't let her fool ya, sweetheart. Ever since she heard you and Leonard were engaged she's been all, 'I thought it'd never happen!', and 'Why haven't they set a date yet?' and 'Please God, don't let her do something stupid and dump him!'" He laughed as his wife glowered at him; then his own expression suddenly turned to an intensely serious stare, and he pointed at her. "But you guys are _gonna_ have a proper do-over ceremony that we can actually attend, you hear me? Ideally when your brother's out of jail so he can be there too."

Amy looked thoughtful. "You have government influence now, you know," she said to Penny. "Maybe you can have a word with somebody behind the scenes."

"Yeah, I'm . . . not really sure I want to get into that, Amy." Penny shook her head and brushed down her dress, a pinkish-champagne frock that was the nicest thing she owned which didn't cross over into slutty territory. It wasn't anywhere near as nice as the dress they'd bought in Vegas, but she was fed up with waiting. "Come on, come on, what is the—oh. Okay, we're starting!" The door had opened, and Raj and Sheldon emerged, both wearing the best suits Nicola had been able to find in their closets. After them came Stuart in a blazer and tie.

Bernadette frowned. "Where's Howie? I thought he was gonna walk me down the aisle."

"He was," explained Stuart. "That was before he realized he couldn't do that and play his keyboard, too, so he asked me to fill in." Through the chapel's open door drifted the notes of Pachelbel's "Canon and Gigue in D Major". "That was part of the holdup, it took forever to find a plug." He offered his arm. "Well? Shall we?"

Bernadette sighed. "Fine." She took Stuart's arm. An odd expression flickered briefly across Stuart's face, as if he'd been about to grimace and then repressed it by force of will. Penny vaguely noticed Raj look at Stuart with a frown, but couldn't pay much attention. A horde of butterflies had just exploded into being in her stomach. Stuart and Bernadette went into the chapel, then Raj and Lucy, and finally Sheldon and Amy joined her at either side, Sheldon holding up the iPad so it appeared Wyatt's and Susan's heads were floating just above Penny's left shoulder. Penny was having trouble breathing. Oh God, oh God, oh God. This was it.

"Baby? You okay?" said Susan.

"Yeah! Yeah, I am, I'm just . . . whoo." Penny fanned her face vigorously with the bouquet, though she felt far more chilled than overheated. "This is just a bit scary, that's all."

Sheldon frowned. "Penny, forgive me, but I don't understand the logic by which simply going through a perfectly mundane social ritual which you were already planning to do yesterday is somehow more intimidating than taking on an entire Texas riot squad, catching a falling helicopter, or fighting Russian gangsters and a metahuman monster. Would it help if you beat Leonard up a little first?"

"Sheldon!" Amy snapped.

"Well, I'm sorry, but it doesn't make any sense!" Sheldon protested.

"No, no, Amy, it's okay," said Penny. She made herself take a deep breath, then another, and deliberately recalled the last couple of days. Sheldon was right—how _could_ this be scarier than any of that? But the weird thing was that almost all of it had happened too fast to be really frightening, and even the genuinely terrifying bits had been leavened by anger, desperation, shock or adrenaline. Nothing like this blank, sheer, wholly unflinching terror. Nothing except . . . .

. . . except those horrible hours in Leonard's hospital room last night, before she'd finally dozed off, wondering if he was ever going to wake up. Sick to her stomach with the thought of the emptiness that waited for her, for the entire rest of her life, if he didn't.

Yeah. Yeah, _that_ had been what real fear was like. This? This was just nerves. Penny's stomach settled with astonishing speed, like her whole body had abruptly seen the hidden second face in one of the optical illusions Leonard liked. She let out her breath slowly and smiled. "Actually, Sheldon, you know what? That helped. Thank you."

"You're welcome," said Sheldon, his sudden smile so warm that for a moment he looked like a different person entirely, and Penny wanted to hug him. Then he added, "I hope that one day you'll stop being surprised at how helpful I am."

Penny's smile twisted. "Yeah, that's not gonna be today, Sheldon. Sorry."

The chapel was small and nondenominational; the minister, though dressed in black and wearing a white collar, also sported an obvious wedding ring of his own on his left hand. Penny hoped her parents wouldn't be too upset with the vagueness—they were pretty much nothing but Christmas-and-Easter Methodists, but you never knew. The rest of the groomsmen and bridesmaids had spread out up front; Leslie, Kripke, Alfred, and a rather chastened-looking Beverly had taken seats. To one side, Page sat in her wheelchair, watching with a small smile on her face. Perhaps she did like weddings after all.

Then Penny's mood soured. Next to Alfred, wearing a wide, relaxed smile that seemed as much possessive as it did celebratory, was Mrs. Latham. _Oh, God,_ she thought uncharitably. She'd hoped Leonard's offer of a wedding invitation was just polite noise, but evidently Laura Latham had learned long ago to seize whatever opportunity was given her. At least, Penny consoled herself, she'd been able to get Raj to _not_ bring Priya along, when he'd hesitantly asked if he could. She didn't know what Priya was doing back in the States, but had every intention of making sure that today spelled the final doom of any thoughts in _that_ direction. Her smile came back. _Spelled the final doom_ —God, she even _thought_ like these guys did now.

She reached the space before the altar where Leonard waited, and grinned at him. He hadn't gotten around to replacing the lensless frames he'd lost in Vegas; there was no denying he did look more handsome this way, but she found herself missing the glasses all the same. He just wasn't _her_ Leonard without them. Still, it made it easier to see that his eyes were already looking watery. "Betcha ten bucks you cry first," she whispered under her breath to him.

"Yeah, no bet," he whispered back.

The minister coughed and nodded to Howard, who wound up the "Canon" with a slightly hurried jangle of notes and a disgruntled look. "Dearly beloved," he began, "we are gathered today in the presence of God to unite this man, Leonard Hofstadter, and this woman, Penny Carmichaels, in holy matrimony. This is truly an occasion for joy and celebration, but let us remember that marriage is not to be entered into lightly or in jest, and only after much consideration."

"Hmph," Beverly snorted.

"Mother," said Leonard quietly. To Penny's astonishment and delight, Beverly subsided immediately, and Penny had to repress an urge to grab Leonard and kiss him senseless.

The minister cleared his throat. "To honour that consideration, we ask the celebrants to state before the assembly the vows they here today make unto one another." He smiled. "Now, before I go any farther, have the two of you prepared your own vows?"

"Yes," said Leonard, even as Penny sheepishly admitted, "No." Then she frowned at Leonard, who was blinking at her. "Wait a minute, you wrote vows?"

"Well, yeah. I mean, we were going to do this yesterday, remember?"

"Yeah, but yesterday was just as much an impulse as this was!" Penny caught herself, cleared her throat and added to the minister, whose eyebrows had shot up, "But still a _very seriously considered_ impulse." She turned back to Leonard. "Seriously, when did you have time?"

Leonard blushed. "Actually, I've, uh, kinda been working on them since we got engaged. I know them now better than I know the _Next Generation_ episode 'The Best of Both Worlds'."

Raj whistled. "Now that's serious," he said helpfully to Penny. "He can recite that entire two-hour script from memory, you know."

"Yeah," said Penny, her smile pained, "I know."

"If there's a problem, I can take you through the formal vows," the minister offered.

"No, no, no, no." Penny waved him back. "It's okay, Leonard, go ahead. I'll wing it, say something mushy, you'll cry, we got this."

Leonard looked a little put out, but recovered himself. "All right. Um—Penny. We are made of particles that have existed since the moment the universe began. I like to think those atoms travelled fourteen billion years through time and space to create us, so that we could be together and make each other whole." He took her hands. "As a physicist, I try to discover and explain the mysteries of the universe, but I don't think I'll ever be able to explain how I could possibly have been lucky enough to discover you. I promise to love you, honour you, and cherish you always, for the rest of my life."

Penny gulped. "Wow," she whispered, guiltily aware she'd half expected something from _Star Trek._ Her vision blurred. And she'd been giving him a hard time about _him_ crying? "Okay, um, wow. All right. Um . . . ." What would be that meaningful to him? Wait. That was it. She smiled.

"Leonard. If I had to sum up all the years you've been my friend, then my boyfriend, then my friend again, and then my fiancée, and then almost my _not_ fiancée . . . well, anyway," she hastily caught herself at the confused looks from the audience. "If I had to sum all those years up in one word, it'd be: Learning. Every day I was with you, I always learned something new. I didn't always understand it—"

"More like 'rarely if ever'," said Sheldon.

"Sheldon, _shush!_ " Leonard and Penny burst out together, startling Sheldon into a visible twitch backwards. He opened his mouth, then saw Amy's fierce glare and closed it.

Penny took a deep breath, then turned back to Leonard. "But one of the most important things I learned was that . . . for good or bad, we don't get as much input as we'd like into what happens to us. And as the last few days've made pretty clear, we don't get to decide the times we live in." She paused and held Leonard's gaze. "But as a wise old wizard once said, all we have to decide is what to do with the time that's given to us." Inside, she grinned at the look of delight on Leonard's face, but kept going. "And if that wise old wizard were here, I think he'd probably say to me, 'Don't you leave him, Penny!'" Suddenly her own throat was thick. Her cheeks felt wet. "And I don't mean to," she finished with some effort. "I don't mean to."

The minister frowned. "Isn't that from _Lord of the Rings_?"

"He _loves_ those movies," said Penny triumphantly.

"I do, I really do," Leonard got out through the tears spilling down his cheeks.

The minister shrugged, clearly deciding not to bother. "Very well. Have you the rings?" Sheldon and Amy stepped forward and, after a brief juggling act involving the iPad, both ring boxes and a few annoyed comments from Wyatt and Susan, finally got the right rings into the right hands. The minister took them both through the final pledges, and suddenly the wedding band was on Penny's finger, and her breath stopped.

"You may kiss the bride," the minister finished, and only barely got the last syllable out before Penny threw herself at her husband— _her husband!_ she thought giddily—and kissed him as enthusiastically and ecstatically as he was kissing her. Cheers and applause went up around the room; a little bit of her revelled in the noise, but most of her attention was consumed in the kiss. She felt as if she was floating, as if there was nothing under her feet at all. The noise seemed to be dying away in silence, as if she and Leonard were alone in the universe. Heat and light grew against her face, as if a beam of sunlight had broken over the two of them—

Something bumped the top of her head. Penny blinked, slowly disengaged from Leonard, and looked down. The two of them were hovering in mid-air just below the ceiling of the chapel, and Leonard . . . was _glowing_ ; an aura of golden light surrounded him, like a softer version of the blazing radiance he'd given off when he caught the sword last night in Vegas, or the light that had briefly seared from his eyes when he'd teleported Beverly away. Everybody in the room was staring up at them in awestruck silence; even Wyatt and Susan were gaping on Sheldon's iPad screen. Penny couldn't help but notice that Raj's cheeks looked even more tearstained than either hers or Leonard's. At least he hadn't swamped the whole room with his emotions this time; she supposed that was something.

She cleared her throat. "Um, honey," she whispered, "you're glowing."

"Oh, Penny, can you blame me? I've never been so happy in my life," Leonard murmured back, and moved in to kiss her again.

"No, no, honey, I mean—literally. Look at yourself. Look at us." Penny let go of him and drifted backwards, just enough to make it clear she wasn't holding him up. When his grin didn't falter, only looking slightly perplexed, she sighed. "Okay; look _down._ "

He did, then blinked. For a moment he only stared. Then, abruptly, the golden light around him winked out and Leonard plunged to the floor, landing with a yell of pain. Raj, Howard, Stuart and Sheldon immediately hurried to his side and helped him up. Alarmed, Penny dropped down and landed much more deftly. "Honey! Are you okay?"

"Ow, ow, ow ow ow," Leonard muttered. He tried to put his weight on his ankle, then yelled again and shifted to leaning on Sheldon. "No, I don't think I am; I think that's an honest to God sprain."

Sheldon huffed. "Well, that's just remarkably inconsiderate of you, Leonard! How do you think you're going to be able to do your husbandly duties by your wife tonight if you're in pain? Or doped up on painkillers? You know, your predilection for showing off really does get the best of you sometimes."

" _My_ predilection for showing off?!" began Leonard through clenched teeth, but any eruption was forestalled when Bernadette burst through the ring of groomsmen with a muttered, "Oh for God's sake!", dropped to her knees by Leonard's feet and grabbed his ankle. Sparkles of white light surrounded her hands; Leonard's mouth fell open. A few seconds later, Bernadette let go and glared up at him. "And that's the last freebie healing I'm doling out today, so you _better_ not get yourself hurt again!"

"I _told_ you they did weddings differently out in California, Wyatt," said Susan on the iPad.

Wyatt snorted. "Ah, they had rings, they had a kiss, some people got high, there was almost a fight—sounds like every wedding I ever went to. I'm going to break out a beer." He disappeared out of the side of the screen. Susan glared after him.

"Wait wait wait wait wait!" said Amy loudly. "Penny, the bouquet! You've got to throw the bouquet! Single girls, all the single ladies, line up over here!" With quite startling enthusiasm, Amy shepherded herself, Lucy, and Leslie to one side of the chapel and imperiously pointed Penny to the other side. Giggling, Penny complied. "Beverly!" Amy called. "You're a single girl now, get on up here!"

Beverly sighed. "I've already been married, Dr. Fowler," she said, "and I'm in no hurry to return to that so-called blessed state."

"For which the single men of the world remain devoutly grateful," said Alfred. Beverly scowled at him.

Mrs. Latham looked at Alfred, intrigued. "Oh, you're _single_ , Alfred? Maybe I should get in on this too." She shot Alfred a charming smile. "One should never neglect pursuing opportunities of interest." She got up and joined the girls, who looked askance at her but made room. Beverly stared at her, then at Alfred, and with a sigh that sounded a lot like a snarl got up and took her place in the group, her arms folded and her feet tapping impatiently.

"Okay, we're ready, Penny!" Amy shouted, and Penny turned to face the wall, grinning. "On three! One!" Penny swung the bouquet with each count. "Two! _Three!_ " She lofted the bouquet back over her shoulder. There came a volley of yells—and then a _crunch,_ and a horrid _thump_. Penny whirled back around in alarm, then gaped.

A large dent had been smashed into the ceiling; Amy's tiara was embedded in the plaster. Leslie, Mrs. Latham and Lucy had all staggered apart in separate directions, as if shoved. Amy lay on the floor between them, the bouquet half-crushed in her hands, her glasses askew as she blinked dazedly. Fragments of ceiling plaster were strewn through her disordered hair. Beverly regarded her with a lifted eyebrow. "Well," she said. "That was a remarkably . . . _enthusiastic_ reaction for a neurobiologist of your renown, Dr. Fowler."

"But I got it, didn't I?" Amy mumbled. Beverly rolled her eyes and reached down to help her up.

Navigating through the chairs, Page rolled up to the group as they congregated about Leonard and Penny, shaking hands. "Congratulations, Dr. Hofstadter," she said, with a faint but sincere-looking smile. "Congratulations, Mrs. Hofstadter." Penny grinned happily at the sound of her new last name. "I wish you both the best and I look forward to seeing you when you get back from whatever you're doing for your honeymoon. But," she added without missing a beat, "I'm afraid there's one small thing we've got to take care of before you go."

Leonard rolled his eyes. "Oh, God. Just one thing? You promise?"

Penny glowered. "This isn't going to involve saving the world, is it?"

"In a manner of speaking, perhaps," said Page calmly.

2:30 P.M.

Leonard had never seen so many cameras and microphones in his life. Even the original Power Pulse experiment hadn't brought this many press to the scene. Just outside the main door to the hospital, Senator Thorpe was standing in the sunlight at a mike-festooned podium with Director Belasco, and beyond them a crowd of reporters, photographers and journalists seethed. Lucy was clinging to Raj in what looked very like sheer terror, and Leonard wasn't at all sure he blamed her. Even Penny, who normally loved playing to crowds, was looking a little uncomfortable. Sheldon had gone nearly as white as liquid paper. Leonard couldn't help noting the convenient alacrity with which Mrs. Latham had found someplace else to be and neatly avoided the spotlight.

"One small thing? Helping save the world?" he gritted at Page.

"A quick introductory speech to reassure people that the genius intellects who created the Power Pulse are now taking the lead in sorting out its consequences," said Page serenely. "People just want to know somebody trustworthy is in charge, Dr. Hofstadter. That's not so much to ask, is it?"

"I'm not going to say anything that's a flat out lie, Agent Page," said Leonard.

"And we wouldn't ask you to. That's how they catch you, later," said Page. If she was aware her words were superbly unhelpful, she showed no sign of it. "Just introduce yourself and your team, tell the public as much about your new abilities as you feel comfortable saying, reassure them that the vast majority of metahumans are—" Her voice went flat. "—just people, and no more dangerous than anybody else . . . and that your team is working directly with the United States government on ensuring public safety and stability in these turbulent times."

Sheldon frowned. "Wait. If the majority of metahumans aren't dangerous, then why do we need to say we're ensuring public safety and stability? Isn't that a contradiction in terms?"

"It is indeed, Dr. Cooper, so it's one I would appreciate you not drawing attention to. As a matter of fact," Page added with a second look at him, "perhaps you'd better not speak at all." She put one hand to her earpiece. "Yes? —All right, we'll send them out." She rolled her chair back and out of Leonard's way, then gestured to the doors with a raised eyebrow.

Leonard glanced at Penny, who gripped his hand comfortingly. He took a deep breath, then strode forward, hoping the others were following. The noise of the crowd of reporters hit him in the face like a pillow as he emerged through the glass doors onto the front sidewalk, but with an effort of will he kept going until he stood just behind Senator Thorpe. ". . . like to introduce you now to the leaders of this new team of government partners, representing both the state of the art in metahuman science and themselves among the most powerful metahumans yet discovered," the Senator was saying. "They'll be working directly with the Commission for Metahuman Integration. Ladies and gentlemen, may I present Dr. Leonard Hofstadter and his colleagues." He stepped back and gestured Leonard to the podium.

To his vast relief, Penny stayed with him, coming straight up to the podium at his side, her head held high. Leonard cleared his throat. "Um, good afternoon," he said into the mikes. "My name is Dr. Leonard Hofstadter; I'd like to introduce my wife, Penelope Hofstadter." A great glee filled his stomach as he said the words _my wife_ for the first time, but he kept it down. "Some of you may know her as the Angel, the metahuman who saved a crashing FBI helicopter on Thursday evening here in Pasadena, and who helped take a criminal metahuman into custody in Las Vegas last night—"

"They're calling that meta the Cave Troll!" yelled one reporter from the audience. "Is that his official name? Do _you_ have an official name?"

 _The Cave Troll?_ Leonard groaned inwardly. "We haven't designated official aliases for anybody yet," he temporized. "In fact, that's probably the first thing we'd better get clear right now. Whatever you've read in comic books for eighty years, both good and bad, or seen on TV or in movies, you'd better forget most of it. Real life is not necessarily going to work the same way. For one thing, real life isn't under any obligation to be exciting or interesting."

"Coulda fooled _me,_ " said Penny, not quite far enough under her breath for the mikes to miss it. A rumble of laughter went through the crowd.

"What about the other metas sighted in Vegas?" called another voice, a woman this time. "Like the man that witnesses on the downtown monorail saw flying with anti-gravity boots?"

Howard looked indignant. "They're _counter_ -gravity _ska_ —oh, you know what, forget it," he finished morosely. At Leonard's gesture he came up to the mikes. "That, ah, that would be me," he said, recovering his confidence. "Howard Joel Wolowitz, at the public's service."

"Oh, Howie," Bernadette muttered, half exasperated and half fondly.

"The talents the Pulse awakened in me seem to be a greatly enhanced aptitude for engineering and technological breakthroughs," said Howard. "I believe that the devices seen in Las Vegas last night are only the beginning of what will be possible. I invite you, ladies and gentlemen, to consider the future, a future far more glorious and spectacular than any we have ever imagined! I invite you—"

"Yes, _thank you_ , Howard," Leonard cut him off hurriedly, noting Thorpe's glare. "Perhaps to save time, we should just finish the introductions quickly . . . ." One by one he ran through the group, naming Lucy and Stuart as quickly as possible—he didn't want the press demanding credentials that didn't exist, beyond having the sheer bad luck to be at ground zero of the biggest accident in history. "And my partner, Dr. Sheldon Cooper, who devised the equation that made creating the Power Pulse possible." Looking rather sick, Sheldon waved feebly at the crowd of reporters. As if sensing weakness, the crowd suddenly exploded with shouted questions:

"Dr. Cooper! Did you know that the equation had the potential to create this kind of chaos?"

"Dr. Cooper! Is it true you can teleport anywhere in the world?"

"Dr. Cooper! Are you going to release the specs on the Power Pulse experiment to other world governments?"

"Dr. Cooper! What's your response to the claims that you and your colleagues should be held legally liable for the damages and injuries caused by abuse of meta-abilities?"

"Dr. Cooper! Are you single?"

" _No!_ " yelled Amy, shoving her way up to take the podium by Sheldon's side and glaring at the young female reporter who'd asked that last question. She waved the crushed bouquet angrily. "No, Dr. Cooper is very much _off_ the market at the present time, and—oh, no." She'd clearly caught Sheldon's teetering sway out of the corner of her eye, and turned to catch him just as he passed out. Thankfully, she still retained the superstrength she'd copied from Penny, and held his limp, unconscious body easily, flushed with both embarrassment and annoyance.

Leonard seized the opportunity and got back in front of the microphones. "Um, ladies and gentlemen, we'll be putting together a formal press release compiling the information we're free to disclose to the public at this time," he said. "In the meantime, we'd like to refer all media inquiries to the office of the, uh," oh God, what had Thorpe called it? "—the Commission for Metahuman Integration, and—"

" _Dr. Hofstadter, if you don't mind!_ " The loud voice cut through the babble of the rest of the crowd. Leonard blinked. Where'd he heard that voice before? Then he saw the blond young man in a dark blue suit pushing his way through the crowd, and stopping in the front rank with his FBI badge held up. "Your group _is_ going to ensure full compliance with all U.S. and California law, correct?"

"Agent Anderson?" said Penny, blinking. "Oh my God, you're all right! The last I saw you they were loading you into an ambulance! What are you doing here? How'd you recover so quick?"

Anderson nodded to Bernadette, who looked equally taken aback. "Dr. Rostenkowski-Wolowitz was kind enough to treat my injuries last night when it became clear my life was in danger. I never did get the chance to thank you, Doctor." He bowed his head, then turned back to Leonard with a grim look, as if even he didn't want to be doing this. "But you never answered my question, Dr. Hofstadter. You plan to obey fully all the laws of the land, correct? Including the law about not harbouring fugitives?"

"Nick," said Page, in a low voice of warning. "What are you doing?"

"My job, Angela," Anderson shot back. "You know, the one you used to do?"

In growing alarm, Leonard glanced to either side and then beyond the crowd, realizing that more dark-suited agents were gathering around them with casual but careful movements. His stomach sank. "Agent Anderson, if you've got a point here, please get to it?"

"A point? All right." Anderson sighed, closed his eyes, and then turned to point at Barry Kripke, who stood blinking with the rest of the group. He raised his voice, clearly making sure all the mikes around him could catch his words: "Dr. Barry Julius Kripke, you're under arrest for the ownership and distribution of child pornography across state lines."

The crowd erupted in an uproar. Leonard spun to gape at Kripke; Kripke threw up his hands, looking appalled. "Whoa, whoa, _whoa!_ " he yelled. "No, no, no fwickin' way, okay? Wook, I downwoad a wot of pohn, I neveh pwetended not to, but if theah's _anything_ on my computah involving anybody undewage, it's a _total_ accident, awh wight? I'd _never_ get involved with that kinda cwap! I mean, come on—" He turned to the reporters, spread his hands and tried for a jocular leer. "—I wike my wadies all gwown up and meaty, you know?!"

A torrent of boos and outraged shrieks went up. Kripke's smile collapsed into a look of sick dismay. Horrified, Leonard tried to think what to do—could there _possibly_ be any truth to this? He'd never thought even Kripke capable of _that_ level of sickness . . . but then, that was how people got away with it, wasn't it? Because nobody could believe it of them? But what if he handed Kripke over and he turned out to be innocent? Or hid him behind Mrs. Latham's lawyers and he turned out to be guilty? What if—

A fierce grip on his arm broke his spiraling panic. "Leonard," Raj hissed under cover of the noise, hauling Leonard around to face him. "It's a trap!"

Reflexively, Leonard fought back memories of Admiral Ackbar in _Return of the Jedi_. "What? What do you mean?"

"I mean even _Anderson_ doesn't believe it!" Raj jerked his head at the blond FBI agent. Amid the crowd of yelling reporters, Anderson had folded his arms with an unhappy but resolute expression as the other FBI agents closed in on the podium. "This whole thing's just an act; it's all a big performance. He isn't feeling _any_ of the outrage he'd feel if he really believed this! I don't think he even really wants to be here!"

"Well then why the hell _is_ he here?!" Penny demanded. "Why're they doing this?!"

" _I_ don't know!" Raj snapped back. "What do I look like to you, a mind reader? What should we do?!"

"Um—" Leonard cast an imploring look at Thorpe and Belasco, but neither man was moving; they must have decided that there was no public upside whatsoever to openly defying the FBI. Even Page, outraged as she looked, didn't seem to have any idea what to do. Maybe they should cooperate, Leonard thought. Even if this was a mistake, or a gambit, or worst of all an outright frame-up, it would probably be easier to go along for the moment and fix things up afterward—

One of the FBI men pushed past the flabbergasted-looking Leslie and gripped Kripke's arm, yanking the physicist off-balance. Kripke yelled in fear and rage and grabbed at the agent's hand—and with a low booming roar, a searing white ball of energy flared around Kripke's hand where it covered the agent's. The agent screamed, a hideous, agonized wail that cut through the roar of the crowd and silenced it instantly; he let go of Kripke and reeled back, holding up the smoking blackened ruin of his hand, still screaming. For a moment there was nothing except those horrid shrieks, and the low roaring of the blazing ball of power on Kripke's hand, the other agents too frozen even to finish drawing their sidearms.

Then the aghast look on Kripke's face suddenly twisted into fury. He flourished his other hand, producing a second burning sphere of plasma with another dull _boom_ , almost too bright to look at. "Yeah, that's what you _get_ when you scwew with someone who can twigguh nucwear fusion in his hands!" he yelled. "Scwew aww of you, I'm outa heah!" He held out both his hands to either side, palms flat down. Energy burst from them in twin plumes of blinding white fire, and Kripke jetted upwards like a rocket taking off, leaving the sidewalk a pool of steaming melted concrete in his wake. His first arc carried him nearly a hundred metres into the sky; then the jets flared out, and for a moment they saw him start to fall before he let go with another blast and leapt upwards in another great pulse of movement. Burst by burst, the plasma jets carried him into the distance, until he was nothing but a dimly flaring speck in the sky and then vanished at last.

The wounded FBI agent had passed out. Bernadette shook herself and ran to his side, grimacing at the damage. Before she could take the agent's burned hand, Penny suddenly came to life. "Bernadette, wait, just a minute!" she shouted. She picked up the podium and hauled it to one side, clearing the way so that every camera could see Bernadette and the injured man on the sidewalk. "I want you all to see this!" she shouted at the crowd, and at the millions Leonard knew must be watching. "Yeah, some of us aren't so nice. But some of us are heroes." She turned to Bernadette. "Hit it, Bernie. Do your stuff."

Bernadette swallowed, but didn't hesitate. She took the agent's wrist with one hand, touched two fingers delicately to the shrunken black smoking claw, and closed her eyes. Soft white light welled about the ruined hand. Gasps came from the crowd as, very slowly, the pinkness of healthy flesh came back into the hand, and it began to plump out and resume its former shape.

Trying to be as inconspicuous as he could, Leonard hurried around them, circled past the cooling pool of melted concrete, moved to Penny's side and slipped an arm around her waist. "That," he whispered in her ear, "was absolutely _brilliant._ Far as I'm concerned the smartest person in this entire group now isn't me or Sheldon; it's _you._ "

Penny's smile held as much rue as pleasure. "Yeah, Mrs. Latham'd probably say the same thing," she murmured. The worry hadn't left her eyes. "God, Leonard, what just happened? Is Kripke actually a—a—oh, God, I can't even _say_ it!" She grimaced.

"I don't know. I don't think so. But if it's a trick or a frame-up, then there must still be people in the government who want us all locked up," said Leonard, thinking aloud. "Fake up some charges against the most legally vulnerable one of us, get Kripke to give the rest of us up in return for clemency, ruin Senator Thorpe's credibility en route . . . ." He trailed off, and realized Penny had buried her head against his shoulder. Awkwardly, he hugged her.

"Leonard?" came Penny's muffled voice. "Can we just go home?"

Slowly, Leonard nodded. "Yeah," he said, voice firming. "Yeah." He turned to Thorpe and Belasco. "Senator? Director? We're leaving. _You_ wrap this up."

Thorpe merely nodded. Belasco made a scoffing sound in his throat. "You guys think you're getting a car through this crush, you're—oh. Right." Leonard had barely heard the last words because the minute Thorpe nodded, Penny had tightened her arms round Leonard's waist and hoisted the two of them into the air. Leonard couldn't quite keep from seizing her in panic—whatever force had levitated him during their wedding, it was nowhere to be found now—but Penny only laughed. She picked up speed, and the air whipped coldly through Leonard's hair. The crowd of reporters, FBI agents, their friends, and the hospital all fell away. Looking up, Leonard thought he caught Amy—still holding the unconscious Sheldon—give them a salute and a smile before vanishing with distance.


	22. Chapter 22

THE METAHUMAN TRANSFIGURATION

 **Description:** The gang gets superpowers. It's not as cool as some of them always thought. Alternate Season 9 premiere.

 **Notes:** Well, this is it—what can I say except thanks to everyone who stuck with the story this long, and made my return to fanfic as much unexpected pleasure as it was? I'd particularly like to thank the reviewers **bamadude, 123justafan, SRAM, joann4172** and **Junior VB** , whose regular replies kept my enthusiasm for the story going—as well as the nameless guest reviewer whose only comment was a page's worth of copied-and-pasted "PLEASE UPDATE SOON", and **FactsoverFantasy** who supplied a needed kick in the butt at the right moment. In keeping with the atmosphere of all good superhero stories, make sure you don't stop reading after the closing credits!

 **Disclaimer:** The author does not own THE BIG BANG THEORY or any of the characters.

\- 22 -

2311 NORTH LOS ROBLES AVENUE, #4A, PASADENA

SATURDAY, AUGUST 29, 2015, 4:14 P.M.

If marriage meant the end of sex, Penny thought, drifting in a pleasant haze of afterglow amid the piled wreckage of Leonard's bedsheets, it evidently took a little while to kick in. She decided she was extremely grateful for that fact as Leonard caressed the long muscles of her back and sides, spiraling his fingers lightly over all the curves he could reach. Penny hummed in languid, exhausted pleasure. "You keep doing that," she warned him sleepily, "and I'm gonna think you mean business."

"Oh, you think I don't?" Leonard murmured.

"I think you should be careful about starting something you might not be able to finish."

"Mm, you're probably right. You want me to stop?"

"I didn't say _that._ " Penny snickered and wound herself closer, letting out a deep breath of satisfaction. "God, I wish we could just stay here forever. Screw being a superhero, I just wanna have a honeymoon like any other bride."

"Well, we have a fair bit of money coming to us, thanks to the contract Bernadette worked out," pointed out Leonard. "We could go anywhere we like. New Orleans, Walt Disney World . . . London, Paris, New Zealand . . . ."

Penny frowned at him. "Why do you want to go to New Zealand?"

"That's where Peter Jackson filmed the _Lord of the Rings_ and the _Hobbit_ movies." Leonard rolled over on his side to face her, gesturing enthusiastically. "It's all this beautiful green landscape, and they've turned Hobbiton into this tour resort destination now; I think you can actually stay in a hotel that's designed like Bag End!"

"So I can bang my head on the ceiling like Ian McKellen did? No thanks." Penny shook her head.

"I don't think the ceiling is _that_ low in real life," said Leonard patronizingly.

"How would you know? You're practically hobbit-size yourself," Penny shot back. Leonard's eyebrows went up, and she bit her lip. "Okay, that was over the line. Sorry."

"Eh." Leonard shrugged. "After that sex, not to mention the whole marrying me thing, I think I can stand to cut you a little slack." He blew on his fingernails and buffed them on his chest.

"Oh thank _you_ very much." She settled back into his embrace, resting her head on his shoulder. "And for what it's worth," she added, "not _all_ of you is hobbit-sized." She could somehow _feel_ his grin through his skin, and chuckled into his neck.

After a moment she looked up at him curiously. "Hey. Answer me something—why doesn't my superstrength kick in when we're doin' it? I was holding onto your bedframe pretty hard there at one point, and I remember thinking that the last time I did something like that I broke Mrs. Cooper's hardwood table."

"Well, you did knock a bunch of my toys over," said Leonard, nodding at the bedside table.

"Actually, I think that was _you_ who knocked them over," Penny countered. "You were the one supplying all the inertial momentum, after all." She sniggered at his obvious delight. "Hey, I _told_ you I learned stuff listening to you."

"Yeah, but it's still so amazingly hot listening to you say it," Leonard murmured. He glanced over at the mess of props, toys and knickknacks scattered on the bedside table and the floor below it. "Man, if I knew I didn't need any of those toys to have this much fun I'd never have . . . ." Penny gave him a look, and he cleared his throat. "No, I'd probably still have gotten them," he admitted.

"Well, toys _can_ add to the fun," Penny pointed out. "Not _those_ toys, but . . . oh, you're not seriously tidying up _now_ , are you?" she complained, as Leonard sat up, swung his feet over, leaned down and began picking things up. "We're only gonna knock all of them over again in half an hour anyway."

"Sorry," said Leonard. "Force of habit. You can thank my mother for that, among other things."

"Yeah, gettin' right in line to do _that._ " Penny snorted and lay back. "What do you think happened?" she asked after a moment. "With your mother? I thought your power was, like, telemawhatsis or whatever, and it's Sheldon who does the whooshy-jumpy stuff."

"Telekinesis," corrected Leonard automatically. "And I don't know, really. There's still a lot we don't know. But I think it probably has to do with your state of mind. Your superstrength doesn't kick in during sex, maybe, because the hormones put your brain into a state of vulnerability and openness, so it thinks it doesn't need the power. Sheldon controls space and time because that's how _his_ brain's _always_ worked: he's always wanted to understand the structure of the universe, and now . . . he does."

"And now he can see the future as well? Is that what all those end-of-the-world dreams were about?" Leonard had told her about Sheldon's dreams that afternoon, after they'd all signed the contract; even now, remembering it gave her a chill. Penny had always loved going to fortune-tellers—part of the reason she'd hated fighting about it with Leonard so much was that it was one of the only times she'd ever got the impression he _meant_ to make her feel stupid—but she had to admit, in hindsight, that that might have had a lot to do with the fact they tended to give her pretty positive messages. And on the rare occasions they didn't, she'd usually written it off by telling herself they couldn't _always_ be right. Sheldon's nightmares were a whole different world of freaky. "'Cause I gotta tell you, Leonard, if the world goes kaboom before we can even finish our honeymoon, I am gonna be _seriously_ pissed."

Leonard shook his head. "Even if Sheldon's seeing something that might actually happen, I don't believe in predestination. If you can see a future you can change it. And I've got too much to live for now." He grinned at her, and she felt herself melting. "Besides, given how _my_ brain seems to work, a crisis might be just what I need to figure out exactly how to use _my_ power. Whatever it is."

"How do you mean?" Penny tilted her head at him.

"Well, like I said to my mother, all I know so far is that for things to happen, it seems I have to be emotionally overwhelmed—so worked up that I forget to be indecisive, or uncertain." He shrugged, turning the last of the fallen toys over and over in his hand. It glittered in the dimness of the bedroom; they'd pulled the shades as soon as they'd tumbled in, already ripping each other's clothes off. "Like this morning; all I remember thinking was that the only thing I really wanted was for Mom to just . . . _go away._ And presto change-o, she did."

"Not such a bad power," said Penny, clambering up to rest her chin on his shoulder from behind. She wrapped her arms around his waist.

"Yeah, until I really lose my temper with someone and want to put them into the cornfield."

Was that a Nebraska dig? Penny decided she felt too good to bother about it. "Well, we'll worry about that later. Besides, anybody who gets _you_ , Dr. Leonard Hofstadter, the sweetest guy I know, _that_ mad probably deserves it." She grinned and kissed him, then looked down at the object in his hands. "Hey, what is that, anyway?"

"Oh! I'm appalled you don't recognize this, Mrs. Hofstadter," said Leonard, in his plummiest mock-offended tones. " _You_ were the one who came up with marriage vows from the movie this was in." He held the object up; it was an ornately carved crystal bottle, full of transparent liquid in which clouds of glittery sparkles floated.

"Did I?" Penny frowned and finally teased the memory out. "Oh, right, that's the whatsit from _Lord of the Rings_. The elvish thingy that lights up."

"'The elvish thingy that lights up'?" repeated Leonard, sounding even more mock-offended. He shook the bottle. "This is the light of Eärendil, the Elves' most beloved star, a light in dark places when all others go out—!"

"Yeah yeah yeah, I remember you bragging about scoring that for twenty bucks on eBay, Leonard." She squinted down at it. "This thing doesn't actually light up, does it? Like your plastic lightsaber?"

Leonard laughed. "No, it's not quite _that_ tacky," he said, dropping the affected outrage. "Electronics and liquid don't mix all that well. Be cool if they did, though. Actually, what they should've done is put a cheap sound trigger in it, so it could light up whenever anybody says—" He turned to face her, brandished the bottle dramatically and declaimed, " _Aiya Eärendil elenion ancalima!_ "

The bottle burst into light, a cool white glittering radiance that lit up the entire room. Both Leonard's and Penny's faces shone like cartoon masks of flabbergasted astonishment for an instant, before both of them yelled aloud and Leonard dropped the bottle. Its light went out the instant it left his hand and thumped onto the mattress, suddenly no more than a cheap prop again. The two of them stared at it together.

"What . . . the . . . hell?!" managed Leonard after a moment.

"Oh my God." Suddenly, it all made sense. Penny couldn't believe _she'd_ gotten this before Leonard, of all people. Then again, he was a little close to the subject, after all, not to mention being a relentlessly logical sort for which this kind of idea wouldn't naturally occur—he hadn't even believed in psychics before two days ago. And he'd just had a lot of sex, too; in her experience most guys operated at considerably subpar brainpower after that. She bit back her urge to shout the answer, wanting to make absolutely sure first. "Leonard. Do that again, just exactly as you did, saying the same words. Go."

Hesitantly, Leonard picked up the bottle again. "Um— _Aiya Eärendil elenion ancalima,_ " he mumbled. Nothing happened.

Penny gestured impatiently. "No, no, not like that, like you did it the first time. Really _mean_ it. Put your heart into it! You _are_ Frodo! You're the hero of the Shire! Now come on! Again!"

Leonard took a deep breath. " _Aiya Eärendil elenion ancalima_ ," he said again, more firmly. Light flickered in the depth of the bottle; he gasped. Penny clenched her fists gleefully and nodded, giving him a spinning-hand _Again!_ gesture. Leonard held the bottle higher. " _Aiya Eärendil elenion ancalima!_ " he said, and the light flickered again, growing brighter. " _ **Aiya Eärendil elenion ancalima!**_ " This time it was a shout; a sudden weird, eerie resonance echoed in his voice, and the bottle became a searing, almost blinding light, painting their shadows starkly on the bed and the wall. Leonard lowered the bottle, gaping at it.

"How did you know?" he whispered.

"Oh, come on!" Penny grinned in exasperation. "After _you_ made me watch all the Harry Potter movies with you, and got me hooked on the books? All those stories about people who make weird stuff happen without meaning to, but which gets them what they really want anyway? Stuff that only works when you really mean it?" She lowered her voice to the gravelliest register she could and did her best Northern English accent, remembering Robbie Coltrane in the movie. "Yer a _wizard_ , Leonard!"

Mouth open, Leonard stared at her. Penny couldn't resist providing the next line, and gave his shoulder a mischievous push. "And a thumpin' good 'un too, I'll wager, once yeh're trained up a little."

Leonard blinked, slowly closing his mouth. "I am _never_ ," he said, "going to believe you when you say you don't pay attention to the stuff I like. Ever again."

"Oh, give me a break," Penny protested. "I told you I liked _Game of Thrones_ on my own, didn't I? 'Cause it's got dragons and people doin' it, remember— _aaahhh!_ " She shrieked in a gleeful giggle as Leonard flung himself on her; the light went out again as he dropped the bottle. For a few minutes there was nothing except wordless noises and rolling movements. Finally Leonard stilled, looking down at her with such unbelieveable tenderness that Penny felt like every organ inside her was melting.

"You are, quite literally, the most magical thing that's ever happened to me," he said softly.

Penny cleared her throat, her vision blurry. "Yeah, well. Considering we're probably gonna have to spend the rest of our lives saving the world together, that's all for the best, right?" She gulped, wrapping her arms and legs around him. "I love you, baby. Don't ever doubt that."

"I don't. I won't. Ever." He bent his mouth to hers once more, and Penny let herself dissolve into him, into this wonderful, magical man. Her _husband_. She still couldn't believe it was all real. _God,_ she thought, _please don't let this all be a dream, please don't_ —

 _knockknockknock_ "Leonard and Penny?" _knockknockknock_ "Leonard and Penny?" _knockknockknock_ "Leonard and Penny?"

Both of them froze. Together, they turned their heads slowly to face the bedroom door. "Oh, my God," Leonard breathed. "This _is_ all just a nightmare, isn't it?"

"No," Penny groaned. "No, this has gotta be real, 'cause not even in my _worst_ nightmares would I dream _this_ up." She raised her voice. "Sheldon, this had _better_ be freaking important!"

"Oh, believe me," said Sheldon through the bedroom door, "I wouldn't interrupt your wedding-night—well, wedding-afternoon—coitus for anything short of an absolute emergency. But this is something that really has to be addressed as soon as humanly possible." To his credit, he _did_ sound distinctly disturbed. Penny exchanged a concerned look with Leonard. Maybe something serious _was_ wrong.

"What's the problem, Sheldon?" Leonard called.

"I need you both to tell Amy that your wedding today doesn't count."

4:27 P.M.

There was a long pause from the other side of the door. Finally: "Excuse me?" Leonard called back.

Sheldon sighed. Whatever the Power Pulse had done for Leonard, it clearly hadn't enhanced his basic thinking capacity—though he supposed that the excessive coitus he and Penny had probably been having might have contributed to this slowness of comprehension. He wished people weren't so hung up on the irrational privacy demands of their erotic activity; it was annoying having to explain this through a door.

"At least as far as catching the bridal bouquet goes," he clarified. "You see, although I was aware of the traditional superstitious meaning of that action, I hadn't connected it until just now with Amy's eagerness to successfully accomplish it, until she explained it to me a few minutes ago while we were, uh . . . confirming our mutual affection. Purely verbally, of course!" he added hastily. Odd: now he was _grateful_ for the door, as it hid the tics he still had a hard time concealing when stating a falsehood.

All solely for Amy's sake, of course, he told himself firmly. It wasn't like _he_ felt any embarrassment over the admittedly surprising shift in his perceptions and priorities, when it came to erotic activity; but Amy, he was sure, wouldn't want him boasting to Leonard like some thickheaded jock in a locker room. However much he might want to so boast, or however much he rather looked forward to proving to Amy that he could be as capable at physical gratification as he was at any other skill he cared to master . . . .

What was he talking about, again? _Oh, right._ Another oddity: he'd expected resolving his relationship issues with Amy would _stop_ his mind wandering to her. "And although Amy immediately reassured me that she isn't expecting a proposal simply because of happening to comply with an arbitrary social custom, I'm well aware that the female brain tends to operate a little more irrationally than the male, which leads me to conclude that on an emotional level she _does_ have such an expectation, even if she herself is not consciously aware of it or is doing her best to resist it.

"Now of course I'm not opposed in principle to the idea of eventually marrying Amy, Leonard, as you know, but I'd prefer that be a mutual decision for both of us, and not something influenced by the subconscious urges triggered through ambient social conditioning. So in the interest of mitigating those urges, Leonard, I'd like you and Penny at some point to tell Amy that this particular wedding doesn't count as the 'real' one, so that her subconscious will internalize the idea that nothing done as part of its rituals really counts. If it helps," he suggested, "tell her that it means she'll get another chance to play Maid of Honour, when you do carry out the 'real' wedding; she really loved doing that, you know." He paused, waiting for a response. "Leonard? Penny?"

No answer. He frowned. Did he have to knock again? No; they'd acknowledged the signal, that was all that was needed for social protocol. He pushed Leonard's bedroom door open, walked in, and blinked.

The room was empty. Penny's and Leonard's clothes were scattered along the floor between door and bed, and the bed itself had been left in a rucked chaotic mess; Leonard's Phial of Galadriel lay abandoned on the mattress. The window was open, its drapes fluttering in the warm fall breeze. Sheldon scowled, already certain what had happened. A quick look in the closet confirmed it: Leonard's robe, and Penny's spare robe which she'd been keeping here for months, were both gone.

He put his hands on his hips. "Well, that's just rude," he huffed, annoyed. He went to the window and, mostly for the principle of the thing, yelled up at the empty sky, "You know, flying without adequate thermal protection is a great way to catch pneumonia!" He slammed the window closed, opened a contiguity back to Amy's apartment—with luck, she was still waiting in her bedroom—and hurried through it, assiduously convincing himself it was politeness and not eagerness that impelled his steps. The contiguity closed behind him.

4:28 P.M.

Two floors above, Penny and Leonard peered over the roof's edge down at Leonard's window, desperately stifling their giggles at Sheldon's annoyed yell. Then the _slam_ of the window frame came up to them, and Leonard's jaw dropped. "That crazy petty bastard!" he growled. "He _locked us out!_ "

"Oh, no," Penny deadpanned. "Trapped alone on a roof with a gorgeous blonde wearing only a dressing gown. What _are_ you going to do?"

Leonard raised an eyebrow at her. "Much as I like the idea, most of this rooftop is gravel, hon. We'd be picking grit out of our butts for a week."

Penny stirred the gravel with her foot and nodded thoughtfully. "Yeah, actually, you might be right. Tell you what." Her naughty grin, the one Leonard loved so much, broke over her face; she shrugged off her robe, let it fall to the rooftop, then lifted hovering into the air and held out her hand. "What do you think, Dr. Hofstadter? Feel like being the first person in history to join the Mile High Club without needing an airplane washroom?"

"Actually, I read about this husband-wife team of skydivers who apparently tried—uh, yes, yes, of course, absolutely dear," he corrected himself at her glare, and reached up to her. She laughed, whipped his own robe off him, and caught him around his waist. Together, the two of them shot into the sky, disappearing into the rich afternoon sunlight.

* * *

CLOSING CREDITS

CAST

Leonard Hofstadter . . . . . . . . . . . . . JOHNNY GALECKI

Sheldon Cooper . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . JIM PARSONS

Penny Carmichaels . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . KALEY CUOCO

Howard Wolowitz . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . SIMON HELBERG

Rajesh Koothrappali . . . . . . . . . . . . . . KUNAL NAYYAR

Amy Farrah Fowler . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . MAYIM BIALIK

Bernadette Rostenkowski-Wolowitz - MELISSA RAUCH

Lucy Armbruster . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . KATE MICUCCI

Emily Sweeney . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . LAURA SPENCER

President Gene Siebert . . . . . . . . . . . JOSHUA MALINA

Kurt Winters . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . BRIAN PATRICK WADE

Stuart Bloom . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . KEVIN SUSSMAN

Barry Kripke . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . JOHN ROSS BOWIE

Leslie Winkle . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . SARA GILBERT

Agent Angela Page . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . ELIZA DUSHKU

Agent Nick Anderson . . . . . . . . . . . . AARON ASHMORE

Dr. Glenn Foxworth . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . RICK FOX

Mary Cooper . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . LAURIE METCALF

Laura Latham . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . JESSICA WALTER

Rassiter . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . LORNE CARDINAL

Breanna Locke . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . VIOLA DAVIS

Reverend Tomlinson . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . TROY EVANS

Donny . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . ADAM DEVINE

Joe . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . MICHAEL CHIKLIS

Sammy . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . KEVIN J. O'CONNOR

Dmitri Rozokov . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . JASON ALEXANDER

Michaela . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . JODI-LYN O'KEEFE

Sean . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . DEMORE BARNES

Pyotr . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . ENVER GYOKAJ

Sgt. Max Abrams . . . . . . . . . . . . . . MICHAEL CUDLITZ

Officer Davies . . . . . . . . . . . . . . TARA SPENCER-NAIRN

Hal . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . TOM HIDDLESTON

Randall . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . JOHN PYPER-FERGUSON

Director Jerome Belasco . . . . . . . . . . KEVIN CHAPMAN

Senator Richard Thorpe . . . . . . . . . KELSEY GRAMMER

Althea . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . VERNÉE WATSON

Beverly Hofstadter . . . . . . . . . . CHRISTINE BARANSKI

Priya Koothrappali . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . AARTI MANN

Alfred Hofstadter . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . JUDD HIRSCH

Nicola . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . JULIA LING

Wyatt Carmichaels . . . . . . . . . . . . . KEITH CARRADINE

Susan Carmichaels . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . KATEY SAGAL

Written by STEPHEN TANNHAUSER

Directed by YOUR IMAGINATION

THE BIG BANG THEORY

created by

CHUCK LORRE and BILL PRADY

(C) 2007 Chuck Lorre Productions

* * *

THE COMIC CENTER OF PASADENA, EAST GREEN STREET, PASADENA, CA

11:37 P.M.

Stuart leant against the lamppost outside the comic book store, looking up at it, his arms folded. This late at night the street was almost completely empty.

How many years of his life had gone into that building? he wondered idly. How many comic ideas of his own had he started sketching out, and abandoned when he realized he'd gotten bored with the story or couldn't think of how to finish it? How many times had he seriously considered ending it all, only stopped by the thought of being unable to stand not knowing what people would do with this shop? How many nights lying awake in the back room on a filthy, trash-rescued mattress, staring into the dark and breathing the stench of dust and mildewed paper, wondering if things would ever turn around?

Well, things had improved somewhat, he had to admit reluctantly. Or at least they'd appeared to, at the time. But looking back now on even the best of those moments, it was difficult to find any happiness in them. Not knowing what he knew now. Not seeing what he'd seen. He wasn't even sure he ever wanted to go back into that store again.

Somewhere inside his skull he felt the same cold fire he'd picked up lurking in the corner of Agent Page's brain, like a jagged diamond wrapped in blood-slick cobweb and set aflame with whisky. In Page's brain it had been a tissue-thin phantasm, but this was the source itself, bright and hard . . . and coming nearer. Unlike almost every other mind he'd touched, he couldn't hear any thoughts in this one; the power, the hunger, were too fierce. He drew into himself, focusing. He was pretty sure he could penetrate those defenses, if he had to, but it might take a lethal second too long.

The figure materialized out of the darkened part of the street, stopping just where the edge of the streetlight's illumination began. It was tall and slender, hair spilling down over the shoulders of a tan-coloured Burberry raincoat that looked like it cost more than Stuart made. The girl's face was hidden in shadow, but Stuart's art school training had given him an eye for build and proportion, and he had every lonely geek's memory for beautiful women—even if Raj had only brought her to the store once or twice. He cleared his throat. "Hello, Emily."

The girl chuckled, low in her throat, and stepped forward, revealing Emily Sweeney's dark red hair and big brown eyes; and if there was a strange glitter to those eyes now, who would have explained that as anything but oddly reflected lamplight? "Hi, Stuart," she said. "Long time no see. Tell me, is there something different about you?"

Stuart gave a lopsided smile. "Look, if you're trying to, you know, intimidate me, I'll spare you the trouble up front: I'm scared. You were real thorough blocking out what you did to Agent Page, but . . . I was able to pull those memories up, after some work." It had helped that he had instinctively wiped the memories of the nurses whose minds had been the first he read after waking up, realizing in terror what their freaked-out reaction would mean. He hadn't read decades' worth of _X-Men_ comics for nothing. "So I, I know what you are—"

"No, I don't think you do." Emily didn't seem to do anything but take a few casual steps, but suddenly, with feline grace, she was less than a yard away. Her eyes were abruptly huge and glowing, lovely as a warm fire on a cold night, and Stuart was painfully aware of her body and its curves almost close enough to touch. "I don't think you have the first _clue_ as to what we are, Stuart. Yeah, I said _we_. So I think before you start getting ideas, I should _show_ you—"

The assault might have swept him under if he hadn't had that vital second of preparation, but Emily hadn't read nearly as many comic books as he had, and didn't realize she'd made the classic mistake of the warning gloat. Stuart shored up his shields, caught the jaws of the closing psychic beartrap on his will, held it for a second and then threw it back. Shocked, Emily stumbled backwards. Not giving her time to recover, Stuart followed up with three lightning-quick blasts of his own, stabs at the long nerves along the spinal cord; the last one broke through Emily's will and struck home. With a shriek of horrified surprise, Emily's legs collapsed under her, and she fell to the pavement. Stuart stepped back, summoning his willpower to strike again—

" _Kurt!_ " Emily screamed. Startled, Stuart whipped around, just in time to see the big bald man charging at him and to avoid the hammering punch that would almost certainly have broken his neck; he twisted aside just far enough to take it on his shoulder rather than anywhere more vital. It still broke his collarbone—he could _hear_ it go, with a sickening snap—and sent him flying nearly ten yards down the street. He landed on his injured shoulder and pain obliterated his mind. By the time he recovered any awareness, the big man—Kurt—was standing over him, with his boot pressed hard on his neck, glaring down with eyes capable of murder. Stuart almost lost control of his bladder, cursing himself. Emily must have deliberately distracted him so Kurt could get close without being sensed.

"Where's your fancy mind tricks now, huh, you little geek?" the man rumbled. Stuart could barely breathe. Kurt's mouth twisted in a snarl. "Yeah, you think you're so smart. You all do. Smart enough to fool some dumb bitch doesn't know any better, but not smart enough to fool _me_. Not smart enough to—"

Holy God, this asshole had made the same mistake as Emily. And a worse one, as well; he'd made Stuart mad. Stuart smashed his way in through those tiny blazing eyes and slammed the man's brain into a deep delta-wave state. Kurt froze in mid-word; his eyes rolled up and he collapsed to the pavement, breathing slow and deep with a vague smile on his face. Coughing painfully, Stuart got to his feet—it was a slower process than usual with only one working arm—then turned to glare at Emily.

She met him glare for glare, but didn't try to move. That could be just a trick, he knew. He had no idea how long what he'd done to her nervous system would last. And this was not how he'd wanted things to go anyway. "Okay," he husked, voice raw with pain. "We've done the obligatory head-butting. We've proven we can hurt each other if we catch us by surprise, and I think we've also just made it a lot harder for either of us _to_ catch the other by surprise. How about I just ask what you want? Besides, you know, the obvious."

Emily narrowed her eyes. "Does that turn you on? Thinking about me doing the 'obvious'?"

Stuart lifted his working hand. "Lady, you are deeply hot, but you're really, really dangerous. Which in itself I think I can handle now, but you're also bat-crap crazy. But at least I know where I stand with you, and you know where you stand with me. And right now that's the best relationship I have in my life. So I don't see any reason why we can't make it a productive one."

Emily tilted her head. "Your friends," she said after a beat. "Raj's friends. You looked inside their heads, didn't you? You looked, and you didn't like what you found at all. Am I right?"

For some reason the throbbing physical agony of Stuart's broken shoulder seemed strangely distant. The wrenching feeling in his chest, his stomach, his head—that was worse. "I knew," he got out through a thickness in his throat, "they all felt sorry for me. I knew they kind of treated me like the pathetic kid brother you let tag along out of sympathy. I knew they all thought, deep down, that they were better than I was, even if maybe they didn't realize it themselves." He drew in a ragged breath. "But there's a difference between knowing . . . and _knowing._ " With his good hand, he touched his temple, and without thinking about it, looked at Emily. Their eyes met.

The second it happened, he knew the contact could have been the last mistake he would ever make . . . but it didn't work out that way. Something— _clicked_ —between them. A recognition of common pain. A deep and lifelong fury at being treated as _not important enough_ ; at realizing, no matter how hard you tried, you were never going to come in more than second best. A hunger for adoration so fierce it burned through all those mundane moral mores, showed them for the tissue paper they were. It was not telepathy, so much, as instant mutual understanding . . . and maybe something more.

Startled, Stuart pulled back, breaking the contact. Emily blinked at him. Then, slowly, her mouth curved into the seductive smile again—but something was different about it. As if she'd never had any problem at all, she got back to her feet, stepped over to him, and knelt down. Her lips were soft against his temple . . . then his ear . . . then his cheek. Stuart's heart thundered. At last, her mouth met his, butterfly-delicate. The kiss might have lasted for years, he couldn't tell.

Then, suddenly, she was upright, Kurt's limp body flung over her shoulder; she carried the big man as easily as she might a CPR dummy. She smiled warmly down at Stuart. "Go see your friend Bernadette," she said. "I'd think of a story to tell her about how you broke that shoulder. I could fix it myself, now . . . but I don't think you'd like my method. It has—costs."

Stuart moistened his lips. More than just his shoulder was throbbing painfully now; he didn't think he could quite get up just yet. "So, are we . . . friends, now? 'Cause as friendzones go this is . . . definitely more interesting than most."

Emily shook her head. Her eyes were bright. "Oh, we're not _friends_ , Stuart. But we are definitely not enemies, either. And I think there are lots of things we can help each other achieve. You may or may not believe this . . . but I'm actually really looking forward to seeing you again."

Well, _that_ was something no girl had ever said to him. Even one who drank blood and whammied your mind. Behind his shields, he wondered if he should bring holy water to the next meeting. But he managed to find a smile. "I'd . . . really like that, Emily." What came out next shocked even him. "And if you'd be interested in dinner sometime—I _could_ donate a little."

Their eyes locked again. This time, what passed between them was something entirely physical. Emily licked her lips, and took a shuddering breath. "You'd better not say that and not mean it," she whispered.

"I think you can tell what I do and don't mean, by now," Stuart said quietly.

The pain in his shoulder was growing again; he had to close his eyes and rest against the lamppost for a moment. When he opened his eyes, both Emily and Kurt were gone, as if they'd never existed. But a small pasteboard card lay on the pavement. Moving slowly, Stuart bent to pick it up. All it contained was a single telephone number—no name, no address, no logo. Just the number.

Slowly, almost against his will, Stuart smiled. He tucked the card into his pocket and began stumbling towards the nearest bus stop, planning out the route back to Howard's and Bernadette's place. "Jenny, I got your number," he found himself singing, under his breath, despite the quite astonishing pain that made his breath unsteady. "I wanna make you mine; Jenny, don't change your number: Eight-six-seven-five-three-oh-niiiine . . . eight-six-seven-five-three-oh-niiine . . . ."

Limping, he vanished into the dark.

* * *

The Big Bang Metahumans will return in

THE METAHUMAN DIVARICATIONS

and

THE METAHUMAN APOTHEOSIS


End file.
